Rise of the Powder Gangers
by ollybotwin
Summary: Suckerpunch spends time in the Northern California Republic Correctional Facility after being misled to commit a heinous crime when his crew is hired by shady contractors. Familiar faces from the game appear alongside various OCs in a series of events that lead up to the prisoner uprising and birth of the Powder Gang legacy. Rise up or die trying.
1. Prelude

Prelude

My name is Suckerpunch. I've been incarcerated in the Northern California Republic Correctional Facility for almost a year now. That's about to change. A handful of us convicts have a plan set in motion to bust this tin can wide open. Depending on how things play out, by the end of the day, I'll either be a free man, or a dead one.

It's another scorching hot day under a cloudless sky in the Mojave Desert. At the moment, I'm blindfolded with my hands tied behind me with my back almost right against the steel fence. I'm out in the prison yard. I know there are the standard dozen soldiers lined up before me, about twenty paces away. Behind them, the entire convict population is assembled in the yard to watch. Warden Nathan is off to my left, well beyond the range of fire so as to get the best view possible. He probably has that trademark shit eating grin on his face he gets when he thinks he's pulled one over on somebody. Chief of Security, Colonel Lilith Phoenix is at his side, as usual. She's watching in a disconnected sort of way, as if it's just another day at the office.

An officer sticks a cigarette in my mouth and courteously lights it for me as my last request. I can hear the gravel crunching beneath his feet as he rushes away. The entire prison yard is eerie quiet. Even the wind has stopped for this occasion.

"Ready!" I hear an officer shout. Guns lock and load as the firing squad prepares to carry out my execution.

My whole body tenses up, but I manage one huge inhale of nicotine and spit out the smoke. I feel the first seed of doubt begin to dig into my conscience. The other cons should be in their positions by now, ready to set the plan into action "Aim!"

It's the longest moment of my life. This isn't part of the plan. This was meant to be a diversion, not an actual execution. After all the planning and all the precautions this is how it ends?

"Fire!" the officer shouts. This is definitely not part of the plan.


	2. Chapter 1: Silver Linings

Chapter 1: Silver Linings

Before being imprisoned, I was part of a gang of mercenaries. Sometimes we would take jobs as escorts for travelling merchants who need protection, other times we would accept contracts from small organizations as armed security. Every job we took involved a fight one way or the other, whether it was a good old bare knuckle boxing match or a straight shoot out.

Our leader, Raze, always met alone with the contractor for instructions, debriefing and payments. This way, we couldn't ask too many questions. We had our instructions and that was it. Simple.

On this particular night, I was waiting for Raze down at my usual watering hole, The Atomic Wrangler. I sat at the bar, guzzling beers and bantering with Francine, the older of the Garrett twins. Up on stage, the new comedy show was getting underway. Hadrian, the ghoul, was insulting the audience as part of his act.

The air was smoky and filled with the sound of laughter, slot machines and music. Conversations overlapped each other in the packed club. Francine busied herself with washing the counter top as she feigned interest in my story.

"Look, Suckerpunch, all I'm saying is if you really need a job-" she began to interrupt my troubled thoughts. For the hundredth time, she was about to offer me the same damn job recruiting sex workers.

"For God's sake Frank," my nick name for her always makes her smile "no one wants to fuck a robot or a ghoul! I'm not going on your weird scavenger hunt for sex objects. Find someone else to do it."

"It'll be a long time before anyone walks in here and volunteers to recruit for the fetishist. But you know my brother, he IS persistent. He won't be giving up that search any time soon."

"Anyone who would know where to look would have to travel a lot and seen a lot of places. You know, like merchants, salvagers or even couriers? You could try asking one of them folks?" We laughed about her brother James' obsession with this sex-bot for a while before Raze finally arrived.

"Guess who just opened up a line of credit down at the Silver Rush?" Raze was overjoyed. He spread his arms, as if to show off his good fortune, smiling from ear to ear. "I'm talking lasers, plasmas, tri-beam rifles with laser sightings! And I got it all for free!"

"What are you talking about?" I sat in disbelief. I could see Francine's jaw drop at the corner of my eye.

"Let's go 'Punch! We got an armory to unload." He patted my shoulder briskly and made a beeline for the exit. I glanced at Frank once, shrugged my shoulders and followed the leader.

He wasn't waiting by the door when I stepped outside onto Fremont Street. I scanned the street and spotted him speed walking to the entrance of the Silver Rush. The evening air was still hot and humid from the day under the burning sun. The streets were still brimming with life, drunks shouting, and gunshots in the distance and street criers announcing the latest sales pitches from local shops. Typical Freeside aesthetic.

It was already after hours, I knew the shop was closed but the guard, Simon, let us through anyway. We didn't even have to have our weapon's checked even though Raze wore his revolver's openly around his waist. Inside, the shop lights were dimmed and most guards had retired for the night. Only the light in the back office was lit.

Raze led me through the shop and up into the office area where Gloria Van Graff and her half-brother, Jean Baptiste-Cutting, waited with two Silver Rush employees. They were gathered around a small cache of energy weapons laid out on the desks before them.

"Ah, Raze. You're just in time." Gloria turned to greet us with a stern look of disapproval. Her dark skin made her even more mysterious in the low light of the office. Jean Baptiste stood behind her silent and motionless as a statue. "The armory is prepared for your approval. We'll pack up right away, but if you need to inspect the hardware…"

"No, thanks. We'll just take it from here." Raze replied.

"Good," Gloria snapped her fingers and the two lackeys quickly began packing the weapons into duffle bags. The Van Graff woman never turned her attention away from us and continued to speak while the men worked on the packing. "Time is of the essence, you understand. You must be precise with your encounters. These three caravans are all transporting stolen hardware that was meant to be delivered to this shop last week. They must all pay for stealing from the Silver Rush."

I listened intently making sure it was all a legitimate opportunity here. I didn't trust the Van Graffs and I hated the way Jean Baptiste and his two cronies kept glancing at me. It sounded like Gloria was sending us on a revenge hit against whoever was messing with her business. I just didn't get why she couldn't send her own soldiers out.

"You must use the access pass below the storage room to leave." Gloria commanded as we each grabbed two duffle bags. Each bag must have weighed a hundred pounds. "You can't transport that much hardware through the streets. Everyone from Freeside to North Vegas and the Thorn will be attracted to that and you don't want to meet any Vipers and Feinds with just the two of you travelling at night."

"That's a really good point." I could tell Raze hadn't really thought about it like that. He had no plan to get this much weaponry delivered through all of North Vegas territory.

"The access room connects to the sewers below Freeside and North Vegas. You can travel safely and quicker there." Gloria led us to the storage room in the back of the shop as she explained. The floor hatch was hidden to the naked eye but once she found the unlock button, the floor popped open to reveal the ladder leading to the underground tunnels.

Raze and I were back at our base of operations in the tunnels below North Vegas Square. We met with the rest of the group in the main corridor where most of the tunnels meet. I passed out weapons to everyone as Raze explained the mission in detail. He outlined the same basic instructions as Gloria had before, which didn't quench my curiosity about the finer points of the objective.

It was plain and simple, Raze had explained as we began to armor up. It's a straight forward hit and run marathon. Three caravans in one night. Everyone had enough weapons and armor to assault the Hoover  
Dam together.

That night, we headed north on the highway that led up the mountain. There we waited in hiding for the Griffin Wares caravan as it made its way down from Jacobstown. As they passed by the Horowitz Farmstead, we ambushed them with our energy weapons and turned most to dust. We raided the coach wagon and stock but we didn't find any Silver Rush goods.

"Whatever doesn't belong to the Van Graff's we can take!" Raze announced to the crew. We picked the bodies and the boxes clean.

Next, Raze explained to the crew, we head east of the city and hit the Durable Dunn's Caravan while they make camp during their trade route. By the time we got there, the camp fires had burnt out and the night watch guards had fallen asleep on duty. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. Again, we looted the entire caravan when they were all executed. Still, there was no sign of any Silver Rush supplies.

"Who cares about their supplies?" Raze snarled with disappointment at my curiosity. "They hired us as hitmen and that's it. We're not retrievers."

The last target was supposed to be camped out for the night as well, but we discovered they had kept on travelling for the night. I brought up the question again with Raze as we walked but he seemed far off in his own thoughts somehow. At last we caught up with Cassidy Caravan's just south of the city, near the old Allied Technologies Office.

We snuck ahead of them and planted a few plasma mines in the road. When the bombs went off we rained down plasma and laser beams. When the dust settled, Raze ran a body count and discovered there was one missing. Everyone scanned the horizons but we couldn't see through the darkness. For a moment, I thought I spotted something in the distance. Maybe it was just a coyote kicking up dust.

Raze instructed us to loot the remains. We took pistols, rifles and lots of whiskey but still no energy weapons or Silver Rush supplies. Raze got a little angry when I pressed the matter.

"None of these caravans stole from the Silver Rush, Raze. You know that" I argued. "And why didn't Gloria just send her own goons to do this. Why at night?"

"This is the only time that all three caravans would be in close proximity to each other," Raze reassured me. "It had to be done quickly so they wouldn't be able to warn each other."

And just like that, Raze had explained how we ended the night after successfully raiding three travelling caravans. Everyone agreed it was a plain and simple straight forward mission. And it went off without a hitch. Almost. We just had to go get paid.

As soon as we returned to the base below North Vegas Square, everyone unloaded the loot they collected and began to show off and compare newfound weapons and other swag. Raze took me by the arm and invited me to tag along with him to get the payment from the Van Graffs at the Silver Rush.

One of the twins shouted that they were going to start the celebrations without us. I could already hear beers opening as the door closed behind me. We travelled by sewer as we drank our beers. Finally we arrived at the correct ladder that led up to the Access Room below the Silver Rush gun shop.

I climbed up first with Raze following close. The top hatch was heavier than expected but I managed to get it open. The storage room was dark but I quickly found the light switch. Raze stood halfway through the hatch, with his feet still on the ladder. The look on his face was betrayal.

"I'm sorry about this Suckerpunch," Raze tried to justify himself "but I need you to meet them alone. This is goodbye my friend."

With that, he ducked below the lid and pulled it closed. I heard the locking mechanism clank home. I tried in vain to get the lid open. I kicked the locking pin and punched the lid but nothing budged. With no options left, I slowly made my way to the storage room door that led to the hall.

No one was in the hallway, or in the bathroom next door. That meant that everyone was waiting in the main shop. I took one last deep breath and opened the door and stepped through to meet with fate.

"Idiot!" Gloria shrieked as I took the butt of a gun to my stomach. My guts turned to mush instantly. Jean Baptiste towered over with his rifle pointed at my face. I could see pulsing green energy as his plasma rifle gathered the energy to fire a bolt through my skull. "You were specifically told not to leave any survivors."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I moaned as I tried to answer back through bursts of pain. Her half-brother continued to pummel my ribs with his gun as she shouted obscenities in an exotic language.

"The fucking owner of the third company, Cassidy Caravans, survived the assault and made her way to Sloan." An image flashed in my mind, like a coyote at the corner of my eye. It was just a shadow at the edge of the night, but now I was convinced maybe I did see somebody out in that desert that night. Rose of Sharon Cassidy.

"Should I kill him now?" Jean Baptiste asked as he raised the muzzle again.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Cutting." A mysterious voice rang from the shadows behind the office door. Someone kicked the back of my legs and I fell to my knees in the main shop. I looked to my left, and an older woman stepped out of the darkness. She wore a well-kept Crimson Caravan skirt and blouse and her hair was neatly combed. She appeared to be scanning the room, looking for something or someone and coming up empty. "You're all by yourself? You're friend, Mr. Raze, must be a very smart man. He knew he was being set up and so he sent you instead. Clever boy."

I knew something was wrong with this mission from the moment I saw the Silver Rush that night. Even the way Raze was acting while we tracked down Cassidy Caravans was weird.

"You were never really going to be paid," the mystery woman explained. "But you did get the job done, and for that, I am impressed. You eliminated most of the competition in the small arms trades; that means more business for the Crimson Caravan and Silver Rush. I think that's cause for a celebration."

She turned to the counter and revealed a bottle of vodka behind Jean Baptiste, along with four shooter glasses. As she proceeded to fill the glasses she spoke in a final tone. "Phase one is complete Van Graffs, and all it's all thanks to you and your crew Mr. Suckerpunch. Soon, we can continue with phase two, by taking down those wretched Gunrunners and their worthless empire."

"What happens with me?" I asked in fear of the answer.

"You'll be going to prison for mass murder." The woman in Crimson gear answers bluntly.

"And my friends?" I am more afraid for them than myself.

"All dead." She replies plainly. "They're being terminated as we speak. An elite team of Rangers are raiding your base where they will find all the Silver Rush weapons that were reported stolen last week, plus whatever loot that ties your group to the caravan massacres. There'll be enough evidence there to send you away indefinitely. No matter how you claim it, no one will listen."

It makes sense. This was a complete setup. I took the shot of vodka and drained it in one swift movement.

"There is a silver lining here: you could be dead along with the rest of your entire crew." She winks at me as if to reassure me "Cheers!"

I hear Jean Baptiste-Cutting make a move behind me and suddenly my head aches. The world fades to black and I hear the woman's voice echo as I drift into oblivion.

"Alice McLafferty: at your service."


	3. Chapter 2: First Recon

Chapter 2: 1st Recon

"Did you really fuck up all those convoys, man?" A man's voice shook me from the haze and I turned my head to face the man seated next to me. He was in his early twenties, dark skinned and a little on the rough side, though not very large. He wore leather armor that looked fairly weathered. I tried to shake to grogginess but it only made my head hurt. The man's voice continued "Yeah, the guards are calling it a motherfucking massacre, you know that? Shit's crazy!"

"Where am I?" I asked the stranger.

"Man, they must have fucked you up real bad, huh?" He looked at me wild eyed and slack jawed. "This is fucking Camp McCarran, man. NCR turned the airfield into a fucking base of operations? You know, Camp McCarran?"

It came flooding back to me. I was up shit creek without a paddle or a boat. Yeah I committed the crime of murder, but that's just what it is in my line of work. I've done worse for less in return. This might be the first time I've ever been arrested for it though. I thought about it hard. Raze, the crew, and myself, we all killed people one time or another. Shootouts happen all the time in the Mojave. Just then the cell door clamored open.

"Suckerpunch," the female NCR officer looked at me with spite "I'm Lieutenant Carrie Boyd. I need you to come with me." I was escorted from the cell to a room across the hall. It was a small bare room with a single seat in it. I took my place and sat facing the mirror, which was obviously a one way window for interrogators.

"We already know that you were involved in the recent raids, there's no denying that." Boyd's voice came through on an intercom. "Rangers recovered various items and weapons from your hideout in North Vegas Square, directly tying you to the convoy massacres. Your crew was directly involved with the incidents surrounding the assaults on Griffin's Hardwares, Durable Dunn's, and Cassidy Caravans. Of these charges, you are most certainly found guilty of and will receive no chance for a hearing at a trial of justice. As per protocol, we must inquire of other recent events involving the Silver Rush armaments we found in your base."

"The energy weapons," I asked incredulously "I got them from Gloria Van Graff."

"Yes, but she reported that hardware missing nearly a week ago. There is a file report filled out with Gloria Van Graff's statement that her caravan shipment hadn't been delivered earlier in the week. The caravan never showed up and so she reported to NCR headquarters in the Vegas Strip. We have to inquire about your involvement in this incident since we did find those missing weapons in your domain."

I was stunned. That Crimson Caravan cunt and those Van Graff sibling fuckers had thought of everything. It wouldn't matter if I tried to involve either one of them in this crime, there would be no proof. That just leaves Raze. I could wonder about him later.

"I'm going to take your silence as a confession. It's safe to assume you and your crew hijacked the Silver Rush caravan first then used those weapons to hijack the next three caravans?

"You are hereby formally charged with twenty seven counts of Murder and four counts of grand theft. I'd say your associates all paid their penance when they lost their lives; that just leaves you to face justice as well. You are hereby sentenced to live out your life incarcerated in the Northern California Republic Correctional Facility with no chance of wraps it up here; you can go back to your cell."

The holding cells were small, enclosed in wrought iron bars with sliding doors. Loud, clang metal structures that really dig deep in your brain every time they move. Each cell had a bench on each side of the door. In each bench sat a man. I took my place next to the man who swore a lot.

"Yeah, you're the fucking Convoy Killer, man!" The stranger declared with a smile as I sat next to him. "We got a rising star today boys, and he's a certified deranged homicidal maniac! What's up man, everyone calls me Boxcars!"

"Yeah, man, I'm, uh," I couldn't shake this odd feeling he was being too casual given the circumstances. "I'm Suckerpunch." We shook hands and traded war stories. Boxcars was arrested for stealing and selling drugs. The guy across from us was a sheriff named Meyers. He never said much to begin with, except that he "took the law into his own hands" and NCR didn't approve how he dished out justice.

The two guys sitting opposite each other in the next cell introduced themselves as Hannigan and Joe Cobb. Complete opposites. Hannigan was training with the NCR to become a doctor when he was caught stealing and selling medical supplies. He claims that it's not like they were using them anyway. Cobb was a whole other story. He was arrested for multiple armed robberies, murders, and arson. And he seemed quite pleased with himself over all.

I was about to tell them how I helped ambush three caravans when the metal bars slid open again. Lieutenant Boyd and a young male NCR guard with the name tag 'Corporal Hornsby' were dropping off a new detainee. The officers didn't say a word, they just locked the door and walked away. The new arrival sat down next to Meyers and leaned across the cell with his hand stretched out.

"Hey, I'm Suckerpunch: Multiple Murder." I shook his hand.

"Hey, I'm Carter: Grand Theft." I gave him a look as if to question him more on the issue. "Ha, this casino boss has me framed for a few thousand caps. It's all bullshit."

Within the hour, a man dressed in NCR Sergeant fatigues arrived to announce our transfer to the prison. He introduced himself briefly as Colonel James Hsu. He lined us up one at a time, first binding our hands together then linking the cuffs from one prisoner to the next. Pretty soon, Hsu had us lined up in a formal chain gang, starting with Boxcars, myself, Meyers and Carter then it was Hannigan and Cobb last.

With our bonds tightly wound, we were led out to the tarmac in front of the building, out in the yard near the barracks. Hsu exchanged a few short words and handed authority over to an older gentleman of lower rank. The new NCR rep marched over to our line up and sized us up with a keen eye and a scowl. He turned his head back slightly and hollered over his shoulder without taking his eyes off me.

"1st Recon: report, front and center!" His voice oozed authority and commanded attention and a quick a response from five NCR officers wearing red berets. "Prisoners! Pay attention because I'm only going to say this once!"

"I am Major Dhatri," the officer declared. "These fine specimens before you are five of NCR's highest caliber rated officers. On the end there is the leader of the elite sniper squad, known as 1st Recon, Lieutenant Gorobets."

Gorobets seemed like the roughneck type. He was intimidating to look at that was for sure. He stood stock still. You could always tell when a man has seen the edges of hell by the look in his eyes and this man's eyes said he's survived the apocalypse and so much worse.

"Next to the man in charge is his assistant, Sergeant Bitter-Root." The younger man beside Gorobets had a fresh face but he didn't appear to be a stranger to danger. He might be less experienced but it would be unwise to underestimate this one. "Down the line we have Corporal Sterling, Corporal Betsy, and 9 of Spades."

Sterling was an older man, darker skinned with a grey moustache and narrow beady eyes. You could tell he'd some fights in his day. The woman next to him wore oversized aviator sunglasses that hid most of her face. The NCR gear covered her body and no one could really see the curves under all the Kevlar. That didn't stop anyone from trying to gleam that figure. Last in line was the kid they called 9 of Spades. He was a tall, lanky kid who didn't fit the bill as a soldier. He must have some talent to make it past any physical exams. The Major declared that Lieutenant Gorobets would be heading the transfer party, along with the entire 1st Recon squadron for additional support. Then Dhatri turned to face Gorobets and the one called Bitter-Root.

"Sergeant Gorobets," Major Dhatri's tone changed to a softer one reserved for loved ones. "You watch my son out there. And Bitter-Root, I need you to keep your eyes and ears focused. Do what the Sarge says, he'll keep you safe."

"Aye-aye Major-" Dhatri and Bitter-Root shared a moment. "Father."

Gorobets shouldered his rifle and grabbed the leash of our chain gang and herded us to the main exit. The tarmac was bristling with energy. A squad ran laps in unison around the entire airstrip, several groups were running drills by the tents and a few dozen off duty officers lounged near the shooting range as we milled our way through the crowds. Gorobets urged us forward by yanking on the cuffs around Boxcars' wrists. I followed as close as I could with Meyers next, then Carter, Hannigan and Cobb last. The rest of 1st Recon followed with Bitter-Root leading Sterling, Betsy, and 9 of Spades.

Finally we made it to the main exit after elbowing and shoving our way through the masses. It was completely different once we were out in the streets. The only other souls we could see were the few sentry guards set up along the perimeter of the McCarran Airfield. The evening air was quiet and still a bit warm from the daylight.

"The correctional facility is a two day march from here. We'll set a good pace and reach the Junction 15 railway station by midnight," Gorobets explained to his team. Each member nodded in agreement before they discussed and settled on a set of maneuvers to get us out of the city.

At last Gorobets settled on a standard two-by-two scouting pattern. Corporal Betsy and 9 scouted ahead and signaled the 'all-clear' sign for the rest of the team to move up. Our group moved like this, ducking in and out of hiding spots until we reached the outer limits of the city. Soon, we were standing in a single file, side by side, staring out into the darkness of the night desert hard pan.

We stood right in front of the Allied Technologies Offices, at the south edge of Vegas. Somewhere on the other side of this building down the road a bit, Cassidy Caravans was lying on its side in a heap of ash.

Gorobets moved first, stepping into the wide open desert of the Mojave wasteland and pulling Boxcars close behind him. I followed next then everyone else began to move with us. Corporal Betsy and 9 of Spades kept a good lead on the group making sure that the path ahead was clear of any threat.

Boxcars never took his eyes off the woman's backside as she darted from one cover to the next. Gorobets even took note of the prisoner's wandering eye.

"Don't waste your time, son," Gorobets spoke through the smoke lodged between his teeth. "Corporal Betsy is on a strict diet of estrogen."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Boxcars turned to me for an answer as we trudged through the sand and dry cacti.

"She's a lesbian, son," Meyers replied back for me.

"Nice," Boxcars responded. I could almost hear the smile in his voice. Just then, the subject of our idle talk whistled to Gorobets, signaling for the group to stall and find cover. The Sarge huddled our chain gang down behind a boulder while the Recon team took shelter behind a bush a few feet to our right.

"Sarge," Betsy's voice was a harsh whisper from the darkness just ahead. Across the hardpan, I could make out the faint glowing street lights around the railway station. The rest of the entire desert may as well have been deep space for all I could see. Suddenly, I could make out the shapes of Betsy and 9 of Spades as their bodies blotted out the street lights from sight. "Sarge, we've spotted a group of Super Mutants and Nightkin travelling together."

This was unheard of. Nightkin and Supermutants normally don't interact, let alone form alliances. Betsy and 9 of Spades fell back to regroup with the Sarge to discuss any tactical options they might have.

"How many did you spot, Corporal?" Sergeant Gorobets inquired the woman as she hunkered down next to him. Bitter-Root took his place opposite of her.

"It looks to be about a dozen Nightkin leading twice as many Supermutants down the road. They're approaching the railway station and maintaining a southbound course on the 15, sir!"

"I say we wait it out, let them pass, and we forge ahead to the railway station." Bitter-Root interrupted. "Once we know they've cleared out, we can set up camp for the night. We'll have a two-man watch throughout the night and trade shifts every two hours until day breaks."

Gorobets made the final call and agreed with the Lieutenant. We settled in and waited while Betsy and 9 of Spades took overwatch. Within twenty minutes, she returned with a status update on the Nightkin.

"The group passed right by the 15 railway and has set up camp at the base of Black Mountain. I think they intend to head to the summit, sir!" Corporal Betsy surmised.

"Could be so," Gorobets contemplated the situation "The whole area is irradiated to hell; could be a good defense for the Nightkin and Supermutants. Radiation doesn't have the same effects on them as it does on us. It makes sense that they would want to set up a base where they can be left alone. We'll steer clear of them and avoid any confrontation; for now, let's get our hides to that station and bunk in for the rest of the night. I'd say there's an easy five clicks or less to get to the relative safety inside that abandoned shack. Let's hustle company!"

We reached the 15 railway station without incident and had a makeshift barrack set for the night. We tried restlessly to settle in and sleep when the silence was broken by the distant thunder of automatic gunfire and explosions. Somewhere up in that mountain, a fight was breaking out and it would not let down for hours.

"Get some rest company," Gorobets gruff voice pierced the air "We leave at dawn. You'll need the energy to make the next half of the journey." I fell asleep between Boxcars and Meyers listening to the sounds of muffled explosions and rapid gunfire.


	4. Chapter 3 Wild, Wild Wasteland

Chapter 3: Wild, Wild Wasteland

No one slept easy that night in the 15 railway station between Vegas and Sloan. The firefight in the mountain kept us awake and with the six of us chained together, sleep was even harder to find when people are tossing and turning right up against each other.

Gorobets kept to his word and had everyone packed and ready to hit the road at dawn. There was only one last order of business to take care of before making headway: we had to drain the lizard.

We marched around the side of the building under the rising sun and formed a line up. We stood shoulder to shoulder with Gorobets first, Bitter-Root, Sterling and 9 of Spades next to him, with the six prisoners following in order from Cobb, Hannigan, Carter, Meyers, myself and Boxcars. Corporal Betsy lined up last, standing next to the foul mouthed prisoner, and unzipped her pants.

Betsy let her stream fly first. Boxcars stood speechless for the first time in his life and watched the female officer stand and piss just like one of the guys. With no hammer to aim with, it was a wonder that this woman could do such a thing. The rest of 1st Recon were unsurprised and so, let fly each their own streams. Our chain gang took a moment to absorb this image before taking a que from the snipers and took care of our own bit of business.

"Are you going to take a piss or stand there with your jaw on the ground all day?" Betsy was getting agitated by Boxcars unabashed staring. Meanwhile, down the other end of the chain gang, Cobb was rubbing the last bit of sleep from his eye when he realized what he was leaking into.

His urine pooled into the grooves of a fresh print in the sand and began to form the outline of a three toed talon. Soon, he filled the entire imprint and the puddle formed into a clear and unmistakable Deathclaw track. Cobb's jaw dropped lazily as it began to dawn on him exactly what he was seeing. Soon, Carter and 9 of Spades were staring down at the massive foot print filled with piss.

"What in the god damn," 9 of Spades announced. Everyone turned their idle eyes over to the greenie. He was pointing at the puddle in front of prisoner Cobb. Gorobets wrapped up his business squatted down to examine the footprint. My eyes strayed from the urine puddle a few feet forward and I noticed one print, then another.

"Looks like a Deathclaw came stumbling down the mountain overnight," Gorobets declared with disinterest. His eyes followed the tracks back up the mountain side as he pointed out the direction from which the trail came.

"It wasn't just one Deathclaw, sir," Bitter-Root interrupted as he began pointing out several other sets of tracks. A few trails overlapped one another, making it difficult to make a proper guess as to how many beasts were in the pack. In some places, the sand had been packed down to hardpan after being walked on so much. "Jesus, there must have been an entire coven. How did they get past us without being noticed?"

"That's a good question," the Sarge replied, looking up at 9 of Spades with a look of concern and disapproval.

"I was awake my full shift, sir," 9 of Spades defended himself. The Sarge pressed the issue more, with his eyes. 9 of Spades began to shift on his feet. "Okay,I dozed off for a few minutes. That was it. Five, maybe ten minutes."

"Those few minutes could have cost us our lives, rookie." Gorobets rose to his feet and stepped to the young officer. "It's just dumb luck that coven didn't stop to smell us out. You're one mistake away from becoming an 8 of Spades, son."

"Why is that," Betsy wondered out loud "Why didn't they stop? There're enough bodies in our group to smell a mile away, even hidden inside this old shack."

"Could be they were fleeing from the gun fire we heard last night," Bitter-Root surmised as confidently as he could muster. He pointed at the trail coming down from the mountain "I'm willing to bet the Nightkin and Supermutants had something to do with the Deathclaw stampede."

"Whatever it was, it's passed." Sargent Gorobets brushed off the subject. "We got a day's walk ahead of us still. I want to put as much distance between us and this place as possible."

With that, we set out on the last half of our journey to our new home in NCRCF. We marched south on the 15 with Bitter-Root string along the chain gang out in front. 9 of Spades ranted relentlessly about nothing and everything right behind Cobb. Betsy was right behind the rookie, followed by the old man, Sterling. Gorobets took up the rear of the group. It was another blazing hot day under the Mojave sun and it was eerily quiet out there on that highway.

Minutes later, we came to an intersection where we met a Nightkin named Neil. The massive blue giant was beginning work on a make shift shack near the base of Black Mountain, just where the twisting, winding mountain road ended at its convergence with the main highway.

"Hello," the giant greeted us as we began to make our pass. Gorobets ran ahead to greet the Nightkin while the rest of us hung back. I was able to hear the conversation from the small distance. The giant stopped his work and climbed down the rock face and came to meet with the Sarge.

"We saw your brigade last night," Gorobets started. "Was it your group that headed to Black Mountain. Neil turned his gaze from the man and faced the summit behind him.

"Ah, yes it was. Our leader, Tabitha, wishes to secure the area," Neil explained. "The entire area is heavily radiated, I would steer clear of this place."

"Just passing," Gorobets announced casually. "I was wondering if you would know anything about a Deathclaw coven that passed recently."

"Of course," Neil replied gingerly with arms wide open. "We chased then from the ruins on the summit. It seems they had made their nest in the abandoned buildings. But Tabitha wants us to get the radio station up and running again. She wishes to send a message on the air waves, to spread the word to other Nightkin who might hear. We're establishing a settlement here, well away from prying eyes. With the radiation, we are protected from any human interference."

"That's some tricky technology to be working with," Gorobets was analyzing the information. "How do you intend to get it all working?"

"Tabitha has a friend that she keeps around who is very good with gadgets," Neil was losing interest with small talk. "A ghoul, if you can believe it!"

"Just tell us where the Deathclaw headed so we can avoid them," Gorobets drove straight to the point now. "If you can point out the general direction, my crew and I can take a path that doesn't meet theirs."

"I can't say for sure," Neil scratched his head. "It was night when the raid began, and I only chased them this far. Last I saw them, they were scattering this way and that."

"Right," Gorobets exhaled. "We'll be going along now, Mr. Neil."

The blue giant waved goodbye and returned to his work on the make shift shack as Gorobets returned to the group. It was decided that we would continue our journey as scheduled, south on the 15. The Sarge noted that we would pass by the quarry village of Sloan within the hour if we kept up a decent pace. He was more than eager to reach the prison and be done babysitting delinquents.

"Before we head out," Gorobets turned his attention to the older officer, Sterling "Get on the radio and contact the quarry offices in Sloan. They need to be warned about the possibility of any Deathclaw in the area."

First Recon divvied out water and rations among the members of our group while the old man spoke to a man in Sloan. The voice belonged to a Chomps Lewis and he confirmed that is was all clear on their end of the highway. No troubles in the area. He gave the frequency numbers for the office inside the quarry, where the foreman oversaw the mines and workers. Sterling reached the office and they couldn't confirm any Deathclaw sightings either.

"Nothing to report in the quarry district, Sir," Sterling announced as he packed up the radio in his bag. And with that, we were finished breakfast and continued our trek.

Our group continued on in silence with only the sound of our footsteps, the jingle of prisoner chains, and heavy breathing as the heat began to rise with the desert sun. Even 9 of Spades was keeping quiet. Everyone was on edge after learning about our close encounter with death. We all kept a wary eye on the horizon.

Near noon, we reached the entrance to the Sloan Quarry and decided to break for food and drink. We chose an old abandoned machine to sit around and enjoy our meal. Sterling claimed it was a vehicle that could dig giant holes in the ground and it was called a 'trackter'. They called it that because of the big tracks we were sitting on and using as a table. This machine would move around on wheels attached to the big steel tracks and dig pits as large as small towns. Someone threw in a joke about someone else's big hole and we laughed.

Just then, the radio in Sterling's pack began to crackle as static filled the air waves on the emergency broadcast.

"This is the Sloan Quarry, send help," a woman's voice shook through the speaker "We were working in the quarry and there was an attack… Something came through a passage in the norther section of the pits- it started killing everybody. Send help please! Oh, God; it's right outside…."

The woman's voice became a hoarse whisper of pleas for help and whimpering. We listened for a minute before the sound of wood crashing and breaking came through the radio. The woman screamed, glass shattered, and the last sound we heard was a horrible and familiar roar. I stood stunned, not believing I just heard a woman's last moments in life.

"We got to go help," Bitter-Root declared to Gorobets immediately "The quarry is right there, we can help!"

The Sargent raised one palm to his officer and shut him up with a single gesture. He battled with himself for a few moments, bit his lip and came to a decision.

"It's not our concern, Lieutenant. We got one job and that's to get these prisoners delivered in one piece to the cages" Gorobets glanced at the quarry road then back at the young man's eyes. He waited for an argument but none came. Defeated, Bitter-Root turned and stomped a few yards away to let off steam. I watched as he picked up a stone and tossed it. Bitter-Root hung his head with his hands on his hips.

My eyes followed the stone as it sailed through the air, fifty, seventy, a hundred feet across the parking lot. It hit the top lip of the rock wall and bounced down to the side of the road. It bounced off the top of a giant boulder and rolled to a stop on the concrete. Suddenly the boulder twitched, shook then stood up on two enormous hind legs. Arms uncurled at its sides, ending in giant four fingered claws that reached almost to the ground.

My heart skipped a beat; my throat dried up and my eyes almost bulged right out of their sockets. I stood in horror, staring as the thing raised its head and turned around to face the direction from which the stone had been thrown. The Deathclaw rubbed its bulgy head, sniffed the stone first then the air. It stumbled over a large stone and fell flat on its face, finally catching the attention of the First Recon and my fellow convicts.

"Weapons up," Gorobets shouted as he spotted the beast. Betsy, Sterling and 9 formed a line, shoulder to shoulder, and took aim with their snipers. Bitter-Root stumbled out of the range of fire and quickly drew his own weapon. In mere seconds, all of First Recon had gone from jokes and lunch to a full out fire fight.

"Fuck this shit," Boxcars dropped his food and made a break for it, momentarily forgetting the bonds that locked him to me. The chain pulled taut and he went sprawling to the dirt, dragging me down with him. We scrambled in the dust to find our footing again. Once we were on our feet again, he yanked the chain this time, urging all of us prisoners along with him.

"Shit," Gorobets caught sight of us in the corner of his eye "9, retrieve the packages! Get the prisoners!"

The Rookie shouldered his weapon and turned to give chase. He looked back at his team mates once more before Gorobets swore at him to get moving. The Deathclaw charged forward, ignoring the .50 calibers that pelted its hide.

"Go, god dammit!" Gorobets shouted.

Boxcars led the chain-gang into the heart of the quarry with 9 of Spades not far behind us. He was having a panic attack, delirious from sun-stroke and fear. The rest of us followed blindly, only glad to be away from the Deathclaw in the parking lot. At last, he ran out of steam and came to a rest next to the tower. He didn't seem at all bothered when 9 of Spades caught up and stood in front of him.

"We shouldn't be in here you guys," 9 of Spades whispered "You heard that woman on the radio."

We all got very still and absolutely silent. We kept our eyes moving, scanning every direction of the pit. I checked every building and rock mound in sight. 9 nodded his head in the general direction of pile of bodies. We all turned, noting the blood and gore strewn everywhere around the main offices.

"Psst," a harsh voice whispered from the shadows behind a 'trackter'. 9 squinted his eyes and made a motion for the stranger to join us. Suddenly, a man emerged from the darkness and ran to our spot, keeping his head down as he did so. On his back, he carried a very large, heavy looking weapon with rail guides and stock sightings. It was a Fat Man that the stranger had with him.

"Tell me there are more NCR with you, boy," the miner begged as he grabbed 9 by the arm. "There's back-up on the way right? Tell me help is coming."

"I'm sorry," 9 turned his eyes to the ground "We're just on prisoner transfer detail. We heard the distress call on the air waves when we were passing by."

The man looked at the Rookie's Recon beret and at our chains, absorbing the information with less and less hope. He shook his head and looked into the young officer's eyes.

"Everyone," he answered a question that was never asked "Everyone else is dead. They snuck up on us through an unused path in the north east corner and slaughtered everyone. I saw an Alpha and a Den Mother, Jesus, there must be an entire coven out here."

"Calm down, man," 9 took control for a moment "Tell me where they are. Maybe we can still escape before they even know we were here."

"They're mostly gathered in the pit; where most of the bodies are." The man appeared to be reliving some nightmare in his mind. "But I'm not leaving. I need to avenge my friends in there. That's why I got this."

He thumbed at the Fat Man hanging over his shoulder, explaining that the foreman kept it storage for the heavy duty rock breaking. Now was just as good a time as any to break it out. 9 of Spades tried in vain to dissuade him of his suicidal mission. The officer gave up his argument and decided it was time to leave. He grabbed the chain and began to lead Boxcars back to the quarry entrance when he stopped dead in his tracks.

A large pair of Deathclaw had lumbered down from the top shelf of the pit and was now blocking the way out of the quarry. We were now completely surrounded, trapped in our hiding spot behind the tower.

"Shit, shit, shit," 9 of Spades whispered as he ducked back down behind the building. He pulled the radio out of a pocket on his back pack and powered it up. He pressed the button and waited for the static.

"Is this thing on? H-hello?" A gravelly male voice came out of the speaker. He had a soft, Mexican accent. "This is the ghoul Raul Tajida…"

9 of Spades fiddled with the volume, grimacing as he lowered the sound. I hoped that the noise hadn't attracted any of the beasts. The man on the radio was joined by a second voice.

"Get out of here, you miserable welp!" A loud, harsh voice boomed over the voice of the first person. "This is Tabitha!"

9 switched the channels and found the correct frequency for Gorobets.

"Sarge!" 9 whispered into the microphone. "This is 9, come in, Sarge. We're boxed in the quarry!"

There was no response on the other end. Spades stood up with eyes on the sky above him. It was quiet as a morgue in the pit mine.

"There's no more gun fire," the rookie announced to no one in particular. "Shit. What do you plan on doing with that thing, mister?"

He was talking about the mini-nuke launcher. The man had decided to attack now while the coven was still gathered in tight group and nuke them all at once. He could at least take as many of the bastards down with him before he died. 9 of Spades contemplated a moment and chose to capitalize on the strangers tactics.

9 laid out a plan that would involve using the man as a diversion while we climbed the rock wall and walk the shelf above the coven. If we were quiet and careful, we might be able to sneak past the Alpha and get out through the old path in the north.

We said goodbye to the man and saluted his bravery and sacrifice. The climb was not so difficult, but once we were on the shelf above the coven, things became a slight bit tricky. From our vantage point, we could make out about twenty Deathclaws feasting in the pit below. I spotted a Den Mother with three younglings and an Alpha.

9 of Spades pointed out the tiny shadow sneaking across the pit floor, winding between buildings, machines, and rocks. The man fired a rife in the air and caught the attention of the entire coven. Within seconds, the man was surrounded on all sides. We watched in awe as the coven began to close its circle around him. As he disappeared from view, he launched a mini nuke straight up into the sky above the beasts.

All eyes followed the projection as it reached its height and began to fall. Even the beasts down below were momentarily in awe as it came crashing down.

"Hit the dirt!" 9 of Spades warned. The pit disappeared in the light of a thousand suns.


	5. Chapter 4: Ain't That A Kick In The Head

Chapter 4: Ain't That A Kick in the Head

We barely survived the explosion in the Sloan Quarry. If it weren't for the rookie's quick actions we all would have died that moment. He'd picked up a large steel panel that had fallen from the side of the large digging machine and used it as a shield. The six of us chained together were helpless in the moment, unable to flee to cover. 9 saved us from the impact of the mini nuke, but in doing so, he absorbed enough of the impact to be thrown twenty yards up the hill and knocked unconscious.

None of the prisoners were injured in the blast. The pit was a charred and smoky ruin below us. All the bodies that decorated the quarry floor were burnt to blackened bones and ashes. We added one more casualty to the Quarry incident: the quarry worker that went in with the Fat Man.

We coughed and gasped for air as the smoke and debris began to settle though the smoke was still very thick. Cobb took the lead this time and made a beeline for the snoring rookie NCR officer. There was no option but to follow the front man in our chain.

"What're you doing?" Hannigan asked, following directly next in line behind Cobb.

"Checking his weapons," Cobb took the hunting rifle first, then the pistol and combat knife. He offered the side arms to Hannigan, who refused, then handed them to Carter. Carter kept the pistol and gave the knife to Meyers, who passed it to me. We left Boxcars empty handed.

"Shit, there's no key!" Cobb spit as he patted down the rest of the rookie's pockets. Meyers explained that Gorobets had the only key out of the whole 1st Recon team. We were so close to free yet so far. We were no longer under the watchful eye of Sargent Gorobets, but we were still stuck together. As Cobb was about to disrobe the rookie of his armor, Hannigan stepped forward and pushed him aside.

"What're you doing, now?" Cobb was surprised.

"Checking if he's dead," he answered casually as he reached forward with two fingers and felt for a pulse under the officer's collar. His face was grim, lips flat and eyebrows furled up. "He's alive; barely breathing but I got a pulse. Jesus, this guy got wrecked."

"Let's put him out of his misery," Cobb pointed the rifle at 9 of Spades' head and pulled the hammer back.

"It ain't right, man," Hannigan spoke solemnly. "He saved us just now, you get that right? He's not injured that bad, we don't need to kill him. Christ, he's just a kid."

Cobb lowered the muzzle slightly. With his eyes still locked with Hannigan's, he pulled the trigger and the shot rang out. The former NCR medic shut his eyes and flinched where he was squatted down next to 9 of Spades. Instead of shooting the sniper kid, Cobb had fired off a round at the chain that bound him to Hannigan. The bullet hit its mark but pinged off the hardened steel chain link. It was futile. We were stuck together.

Hannigan made a good point and was very compassionate about letting the young sniper live. Cobb didn't like it, but he agreed with a few conditions. 9 of Spades had to be disarmed and stripped of his NCR gear. We left his radio, pack, and armor behind. The last condition was that Hannigan had to carry the unconscious sniper, since it was his idea to keep him alive.

Using his medic training, he was able to form a makeshift sling for the kid's broken arm and ribs. He borrowed shirts from Meyers and I using the torn bits as bandages. Within in minutes he was ready to go and slung the sleeping rookie over his shoulders.

The trek down the narrow pass from the quarry to the valley below was not an easy one with the six of us chained together. Boulders, loose gravel and sand slowed our progress. Hannigan struggled with the limp body over his shoulders but managed just fine. We were clear of the northern passage and found ourselves within eyeshot of the small settlement of Bonnie Springs.

"Do you think that mini-nuke was enough to kill the Deathclaw up there?" Carter wondered. No sooner had he said that that the sound of a Deathclaw howl echoed down from the quarry passage. It was joined by one more howl, then two then a whole choir of howls jumped into the ensemble. The howls echoed through the canyons and across the flat wastelands.

"I guess that answers our question," Cobb snickered. Carter hung his head as the howls began to die out. "Let's get the hell out of here. I don't want to be near here if one of those bastards doubles back on us."

"I'll be damned," a voice caught us off guard as we made our way down the road. "Did you guys just come down from the quarry?" It was a woman and two men scantily clad in leather and denim gear. They were members of the Great Khans. The two men were hanging back talking amongst themselves and the woman was cautiously approaching us. She observed our chains and weapons then checked her own pistol.

"You don't want to go back that way miss," Cobb said. "You probably saw the explosion from here. This guy, crazy asshole, went kamikaze in there on some Deathclaws. It's a complete disaster."

"We know," she turned to her friends and waved them over. "Yeah, our crew in Bonniesprings saw the whole thing from here. First, that stampede of Deathclaw went racing up the passage, an hour later we saw the mushroom cloud from camp. Wow, you guys must have gone through hell." She took a moment to breathe, and while she did so, she noticed the half-naked 9 of Spades hanging over Hannigan's shoulder. More precisely, she noticed his dog tags which we hadn't removed. She reached over and tucked it into the rookie's under shirt and looked over her shoulder to make sure no one had seen it yet. She began to whisper harshly.

"Jesus, this kid is First Recon? Listen, you can't let Chance over there find out who this boy really is, or he'll beat him to death with his bare hands." Just then, Chance and the other man caught up and stood next to her. Chance was a towering specimen with long blonde hair and thick muscles. The shorter one was tan with dark, cropped hair and a moustache. The woman introduced herself and her friends "Chance, Jack; you wouldn't believe it but these guys just came down from that warzone in the Quarry."

"No shit," the shorter of the two replied unimpressed "How the hell did you manage that all chained up?"

"We're escaped convicts," Cobb said bluntly. "We took a short cut during our escape and got caught up in that shitstorm back there." It was plain and simple and Cobb delivered his reply with defiance.

"Well," Diane shrugged her shoulders and turned to her male counterparts and suggested something out of the ordinary. "It's not like being a convict is also being part of a gang or association really, right? I don't think we have to get hostile here."

"What's with your friend?" Jack asked, pointing at 9 of Spades. "Who's this punk and why he ain't chained up like you?" Cobb glanced at Diane then Hannigan and thought for a second before he could answer. We couldn't let Chance kill this kid after he just saved us that day. It wasn't right. I hoped Cobb wouldn't turn the kid in.

"He's a quarry worker we picked up along the way," Cobb answered smoothly. "Kid actually saved us during the explosion; sacrificed himself really. Those damn creatures survived the explosion too and we couldn't just leave him there. He's a damn hero, come to think of it." I was really impressed with Cobb's moral choice to spare the injured rookie officer. We all knew that the Great Khans and NCR had history in the Bitter-Springs massacre a few years ago. Very few people knew that members of the First Recon unit were involved in the slaying of dozens of families in the old Khan settlement. I think, silently, we mutually agreed that 9 of Spades was way too young to have possibly been involved in Bitter-Springs. If Chance killed him, it would be senseless.

"You must have some luck," Jack looked the whole group over, one by one. "What's the next step, boys? I bet you're just dying to get those shackles off? If I unhook all these things you got to promise to take care of that kid. You said it yourself; he saved your lives, so you owe it to get him to a doctor." Cobb nodded yes and turned to the rest of us and waited for our agreement. It was unanimous.

"We were already planning on getting help, Hannigan here already set up a shoulder splint for the kid and everything." Cobb showed off the scrap rags being used as bandages. Jack looked on in approval nodding at the patchwork and turning to

"Hey give the kid a little pain relief," Diane suggested to Jack. She turned her eyes wide and exclaimed to us that she and Jack were 'pharmacists'. Meaning they were in the drug trade. "Jack and I cook up all our own shit and sell it to other gangs. Even though we hate 'em we need their business. In fact, we're headed up the highway, to a small tribal village just off highway. We're trying to establish a business connection with the campers out there."

"Maybe we can travel with you guys after you free us," Meyers suggested suddenly. "It's safer to travel in numbers when you know there are Deathclaw nearby. Don't you guys think so?" No one argued his point and it was settled. Jack unlocked the cuffs and we left the chains and shackles in a pile in the middle of highway. Hannigan continued to carry 9 even as the incline of the hill got steeper and steeper. Soon, his face was red and his knees began to shake with every step. Sweat poured off him in splashes and finally Meyers gave in to his sympathetic nature.

"Ah, hell! Let me give you a hand." The former sheriff grumbled as he slung the unconscious sniper's arm over his shoulder. Soon, everyone was taking a turn sharing the young officer's weight as we made our way up the steep highway. Chance stopped the gang and gestured to Boxcars with his hand. My fellow convict didn't understand the meaning of this immediately. Diane explained, feeling a little indignant as she spoke.

"Chance doesn't speak. He's a mute." I had a guess that this man was a survivor from the Bitter-Springs massacre. That might explain the muteness, maybe he was shell shocked or something from that incident. It made me feel sorry for the big lug, but then it worried me that he might find out 9 of Spades is his enemy. "I think he's offering to help you carry your miner buddy."

"Yeah, thanks," Boxcars was more than happy to unload. He absentmindedly heaved the kid's weight over the giant Khan soldier. I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. Our new group continued up the path until we arrived at beaten path that turned off the highway. The Khans told us about the tribal village again and reminded us to take care of the rookie once we got to Goodsprings. As Chance handed 9 of Spades over to Hannigan once again, the sparkle and jingle of the kid's dog tags came tumbling out of his shirt.

We all watched wide eyed as the giant Khan picked up the tag between his fingers and flipped it face up to reveal the words inscribed on its surface. It was a soldier's identification number followed by the 'word first recon unit'. On the line below was the NCR stamp. Everyone held their breath as we waited for the man to explode as he would soon realize the truth. Nothing happened for a really long time.

"Oh, Chance can't speak, but he can't read either!" Diane shook us from our shock. "Silly big lug, I think he just likes his reflection." Chance smiled and dropped the dog tags and let the chain hang loose. He nodded goodbye and we were on our way once again. Once the Khans were out of sight and well out of hearing range, we all let a gasp of air out, relieved that the gigantic Khan didn't discover the kid's connection. And that's the story about how 9 of Spades almost died but he never knew about it. He was unconscious the entire time.

We reached Goodsprings well before dark. I had been in the area before and knew where to find the local doctor. Hannigan and I escorted the rookie into Doc Mitchell's place to be examined. The old man said there were ribs broken and a fractured leg but the boy would live. We had owned up to our promise to the Khans and did our civic duty saving the kids life after he saved ours.

Free at last, with no chains and no NCR goofs to push us around, we headed to the Prospector's Saloon. It was a nice place with decent drinks and we settled in to celebrate our newfound freedom. We shared several rounds of beer and played pool. Late in the night, after a few bottles of whiskey and vodka, Cobb got rowdy. A man bumped into him and made him spill some of his drink and he started to cuss and push and shove. The bartender, a beautiful wastelander, shouted above the ruckus.

"God dammit, Chet, I told you not to start another fight in here!" she screamed at the man Cobb had targeted. He sent Chet flying over the bar and into the back wall, tearing down the mirror and bottles of alcohol, even a radio. The bar woman was more worried about her radio than she was about her friend who worked next door. Suddenly a gun went off in the room. Everybody flinched and turned to see who the shooter was.

"Everybody freeze." Sargent Gorobets' voice was stern and angry. He was angry and tired and injured. Every member of his squad was covered in dirt, blood and sweat. They'd even managed to locate 9 of Spades. He was behind the group, leaning on one crutch with a steel boot around his broken leg. "You may have shit the bed once on this trip rookie, but I think you more than make up for that. All my prisoners are alive, in one piece, all in one place. Boy, if you can hop over there on your good leg and hook these convicts up in their proper bonds once more I might just promote you to a 10 of Spades. That's one step closer to the unlikelihood of you ever becoming an Ace."

The rookie sniper kid struggled with the chains and shackles but managed in the end to have us back in our original line up. Boxcars led, I followed with Meyers behind me then Carter, Hannigan and Joe Cobb on the end. Once more, we continued on our journey south to the Northern California Republic Correctional Facility. Our armed escorts were in terrible moods and we were too drunk to fight, so we made the journey through the high desert noon in silence.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon we finally arrived at our new home in the Mojave Desert. The towers and steel fence forbade any hope of escape and the guards and securitrons patrolling the perimeters enforced that terrible feeling. A guard demanded identification cards from the First Recon members then asked for prisoner transfer papers. We walked through several more steel bar doors that locked automatically behind us. Armed security patrolled every door and hall.

I felt a shiver run down my spine as I heard the last door slide shut behind me. Metal on metal crashed as the bars locked us in. I was officially NCRCF property.


	6. Chapter 5: NCRCF

Chapter 5: NCRCF

The prison facility was divided in three sections enclosed by thirty foot tall steel reinforced walls with barbed wired headings. Enormous three-story tall watch towers over looked the yard and perimeter from strategic spots along the fences. A second, outer fence surrounded the entire facility although it was a shorter chain link fence. We were dragged through registration in the first section, where First Recon confirmed their identities as NCR representatives and then checked our prisoner transfer papers. Once we signed in, each of the prisoners were issued a small duffle bag filled with various items. We were then led through a door that opened up on the prison yard.

Hundreds of bodies swarmed to and fro in chaos. Most of them were dressed in the standard issue blue jumpsuit with NCRCF stamps and ID numbers. Dozens of security guards roamed idly through the crowds of convicts milling around the yard. Far off to my right, a securitron stomped mechanically along the perimeter wall. In front of me, three buildings stood in a row across the yard. They were barracks marked letters 'A' through 'C'. Our escort, Gorobets, directed us to a separate section where the administration building stood.

The yard was chaos. There was yelling, whistling, some prisoners playing a very intense game of basketball; a crowd had formed around a trio of prisoners fighting. Guards rushed in with batons and riot gear. Someone through a half full bottle of Nuka-Cola, which barely missed Boxcars and smashed into my chest. I was drenched in warm soda pop. I heard a voice yell "Welcome to hell!" followed by a chorus of laughter. At last, we made it through the masses and into Administration.

After several security checks, we were finally being handed over to the warden. The old man was short and stocky, clean shaven with a stiff business comb over. He didn't appear to be in a good mood as he sat in his office chair smoking a cigar. A tiny woman wearing a unique NCR uniform stood behind him, with one hand on her hip and the other on the butt end of a caddle prod attached to her waist. She was short, and very thin with enormous breasts. The phrase 'tits on a stick' could describe this knock out perfectly.

"Lieutenant Gorobets with First Recon unit, reporting from Fort McCarran, sir," the old veteran stood stiff with his hand at his forehead in salute. The rest of his team followed his lead "Sorry for the delay, Warden Nathan, sir. Ran into a few Deathclaw that put a little detour in our trip down here."

"Do you mind, telling me exactly what happened, Lieutenant? It's standard procedure for the report, you know the drill." The warden looked bored but obliged the Recon leader to enlighten him on our plight. Gorobets recounted the events following our separation at the Sloan Quarry. Betsy, Sterling, Bitter-Root, and Gorobets had held their ground against the Deathclaw that attacked us in the parking lot. The group was headed into the quarry to retrieve the rookie and the escaped prisoners when they heard pistol fire in the pit mine. Moments later, an explosion scorched the entire quarry.

During their initial inspections of the quarry following the nuke blast, they discovered the entire worker population wiped out. The Deathclaw coven that raided the area had survived the mini-nuke, making it impossible to scour the place for signs of rookie or the convicts. After falling back and seeking shelter in the village of Sloan, they failed to contact Spades by radio several times throughout the day.

As the old men discussed the journey my eyes wondered around the room. A large oak desk dominated the center of the room where Warden Nathan sat behind it in a large leather seat. The Recon unit stood in a line before the desk and the prisoners stood directly behind them. Several pictures hung on the wall, the warden shaking hands with the President Kimball, the warden accepting a purple heart, and so on. Smoke hung in the air and the smell of scotch and cigar burned in my nose.

"Well, the good thing is you made it all in one piece," the warden feigned a smile. "I can add a few more subjects to my already full box of toys and puppets. We could always use a few extra hands in the worker's program. They could clear the railways and we can save NCR a few measly dollars on labor. Well, my chief of security will escort the scum to their cells and get them orientated on how we run things around here."

The tiny woman behind stepped around the desk and breezed past our chain gang without so much as a glimpse and motioned us to follow here. She led us down stairs and out through the security checks once more. At the exit she paused our line up and ordered a pair of guards to unchain our lineup. At last, our hands were free of the touch of cold steel.

"I'm Chief of Security, Colonel Lilith Phoenix. Although Warden Nathan holds the highest rank and title around here, it's a known fact that I am the one, in fact, who operates this facility. I run this circus, and it runs by my rules. I see familiar faces once again, but for those of you who don't know, NCRCF is a government funded operation that doubles as a prison and a work horse for the NCR. Sanctioned by President himself, we run a work-release program that allows prisoners to buy off increments of their sentence should they decide to sign up for railway clearing duty." The tiny woman marched up and down our line with her nose in the air and her chest puffed out. She spoke in a monotone that hinted that this was a repeated speech. "The rules are simple. Number one: no one escapes. Ever.

Every escape attempt in the past has been dealt with our zero policy which resulted in the deaths of over a hundred men in the last year alone. Don't become another statistic, boys, and just stay inside the lines I draw for you. Rule number two: repeat rule number one. Just remember those and you might survive to see your release dates." With that, Colonel Phoenix led us back into the yard where it was still chaos. Prisoners made way for the Chief of Security without prodding as she made her way through the yard. She began to explain the living conditions in prison. "NCRCF is home to hundreds of criminals, all from various backgrounds. Murderers, thieves, and public nuisances all share the yard with no real separation between levels of offenders. My guards are not here to babysit, so it's up to the population to work out its own boundaries of interaction. Any outburst is met with non-lethal response and leads to confinement in the 'Hotbox'.

"During the day, half of the population is on the railway clearing debris from the tracks. At night, the convicts trade spots. Since you arrived before the day shift began, you'll be assigned to a night-crew." Phoenix spoke loud and clear, but pressed forward without skipping a beat. The yard was a riot as men moved in to hound the newcomers. Some made cat calls to the Colonel, others made threats to members of our lineup. I became distracted and missed a few notes the officer mentioned. "And these buildings are the bunkhouses where you will each be assigned a cell and a bed. During registration, you would have been assigned a duffle bag: do not lose these. These bags include essentials such as hygienic basics, beddings, and your standard issue prisoner uniforms."

We entered the building labeled 'Block A', where Phoenix opened an empty cell and ordered Carter and Hannigan to step forward. Before she allowed them into their new homes she ordered a guard to fit the gambler with a collar. As the security escort attached a leather collar around the prisoner's neck I noticed the little device attached to the straps and buckle. The Security Chief began to elaborate on the purpose of these collars she was strapping to Carter and now Hannigan.

"These collars are wired with explosives. These devices are wired to proximity sensors that will trigger the explosion if the collar leaves the perimeter of the prison. Any attempt to remove the collar will trigger the device. Beacons have been setup out in the railway work zones to keep you in line. Moving out of range of these beacons will trigger the explosion. If I so much as have a mood-swing during a period, I have a device to manually override any collar I choose and trigger the explosion." The room was silent. My mouth went dry as she spoke. Soon, all six of us prisoner were wearing the same collar explosives. Colonel Phoenix turned to our group and asked "Does the fresh meet have any questions?"

"Yeah," Boxcars answered with his hand raised. "How big are those titties?" I was stunned at his arrogance. He giggled a little as he waited for a reply. The Colonel hung her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I'm a G," Phoenix answered. In the blink of an eye, she whipped the cattle prod from the holster on her belt and slammed it into Boxcars' crotch. Volts of electricity surged through his organs, buckling his knees and leaving his limp, twitching body on the floor of his cell. She put her boot heel on his crotch and leaned down with all her weight and she continued to speak. "Welcome to hell, boys. This place is your home until NCR sees fit to set you free or until the cage claims you for its own. It's a harsh reality and it only gets worse from here. Get used to it; learn to live by the rules and you might make it out okay."

We left Carter and Hannigan in their cells in 'BlockA'. In 'Block B' Phoenix assigned Boxcars to an occupied cell, which meant he would have to bunk with a stranger. Cobb, Meyers and I were brought to 'Block C'. The three of us were assigned to a larger room with half a dozen bunkbeds. Half the beds were already occupied as we entered the room. Men in prisoner jumps looked up from their activities to size up the fresh meat.

"One more thing," Colonel Phoenix stepped to me as I turned to face her. She stood with her hands behind her back and her legs planted wide as if in challenge. "Prisoners on death row and life sentences have no choice about working the tracks and there's no eligibility to buy off your prison term no matter how much work you do. Enjoy your new home boys."

I watched her leave, sneaking a glimpse of her beautiful figure under that uptight uniform. Her skirt was dangerously short and her blouse hung open revealing more skin than was strictly allowed by code. Her green beret barely held her long crimson hair from falling in front of her luscious green eyes. I was still daydreaming when she disappeared from the bunk house and a voice shook me from my reverie.

"One of these days, I'm going to fuck her in half," A man spoke wistfully as if from another dream of his own. He was at my side and turned to face me. With his hand stretched out to greet me he introduced himself "Hey, I'm Samual Cooke, welcome to your own personal nightmare."

The rest of the prisoners got up from their beds and slowly began to form a ring around our trio. Cobb, Meyers and I were suddenly surrounded and outnumbered three times to one. Samual Cooke and his friends barraged us with fists and boot heels, tightening their circle on us as we were pummeled to the floor. Minutes into the beating I was finally knocked unconscious when I took a foot to the chin.

"It's no big deal, man it's just a welcoming ritual." Cooke argued playfully as we walked around the yard a few hours later. The sun was out and the crowd seemed to have calmed down since our arrival. Men sat at benches playing games of Caravan, others were on the basketball court. A large group gathered near a collection of weights and benches working out. Security guards milled about aimlessly in pairs while several robot security guards patrolled the walls. Cooke was giving us a tour after his committee rolled out the welcome mat for us back in 'C' block. He continued his plea for forgiveness with a show of remorse. "All the cons get the jump when they first get locked up, man it's nothing personal. Let me show you around a bit to make up for it. I'll get you learned on a few things, the way we work around here. Take a look around this yard man, at all these people.

"Every last one of these scumbags is looking out for numero uno. That's the main key to survival here. Don't go looking for a fight because you don't know who's associated in this cage. Guards don't designate areas for different criminals, it's a jungle. Petty thieves next to mass murderers and rapists, man these sharks will eat anyone alive if you let them." I scanned the yard and began to notice little divisions in the crowds. Racial cell groups formed clusters around tables in different corners of the yard. Blacks, whites, and browns kept to their own kind for the most part. "It doesn't matter what gang you were in before; Khan, Viper, Jackal, King. Those titles don't mean shit anymore. It's all about race in here. It's a little different in the bunkhouses. 'A Block' is for minor offence prisoners like petty thieves and cheaters. 'B' is for middle level criminals that got caught for things like assault, armed robbery, and NCR abandoners from the army. 'C Block' houses all the murderers, rapists and violent offenders."

We were gathered at a bench with Meyers and Cobb scanning the yard and myself listening intently to Cooke's information. Several of Cooke's goons who were part of the beat down in the cell accompanied our tour. Samual introduced them as Phillip Lem, Eddie, Scrambler and Chavez. Everyone called Phillip by his last name, and he was Cooke's second in command. Eddie was his loyal protégé with Scrambler and Chavez rounding out the group as muscle men.

I recognized a prisoner in the yard wandering around the yard alone. He zig zagged through the crowds getting dangerously close to a splinter group of skin heads collected by the bunkhouse. It was Hannigan. To his misfortune, one of the skin heads spotted the newcomer and homed in on him. Hannigan was clearly at a disadvantage. The men began pushing and shoving. Cooke followed my eyes to what I was looking at and he shook his head.

"God damn, Legion rejects." Cooke looked on for a moment before facing me again and explained "Of all the gangs, only Caeser's Legion members hold a flag in the prison. They'll never be accepted back into the Fort if they're released but they still maintain their allegiance. Let's go help your friend." Cooke signaled his friends to join him and we approached the bully Legionnaires. Cooke acted as our spokesman when the leader of the gang turned to face us.

"This is not your business, Cooke," the Legionair spit. He was tall, and built like a brick shit house. His shaved head revealed a tribal tattoo on his neck but I couldn't make out the details. He was joined by a dozen other shaved prisoners.

"Hey, Contstantine, why you such a bitch?" Cooke stepped to the former Legion member with courage and defiance.

"What did you call me?" The man let go of Hannigan's shirt. Cooke stood his ground as Constantine took two large steps to stand chest to chest with the inmate. The Legionnaire was easily a foot taller and more defined in the muscle department.

"I asked you why you're such a bitch?" Cooke repeated. "You're always picking on the fish but I never see you step to any of the big names in this yard." I felt the air begin to boil as Cooke provoked the man's violent nature. Men on both sides gathered tighter behind their respective leaders in anticipation for a show down.

Constantine made an attempt to throw a surprise punch but Cooke was the better fighter. A riot broke out and soon, convicts and Legionnaires were locked in combat. A gun went off somewhere, and everyone dropped to the ground. The chaos quickly ended and the yard was silent.

"Who started this riot?" Colonel Phoenix screamed. She stomped over to Cooke and Constantine who were still locked in a grapple. She swatted both men with her cattle prod and ordered four guards to grab each prisoner. She dismissed the guards and spoke as she walked away. "Lock them up in the Hotbox."

As two guards grabbed him by each arm, Cooke snuck a wink in my direction and hollered as he was dragged away. "See tonight at work, boys!"


	7. Chapter 6: On The Right Track

Chapter 6: On the Right Track

The prison was put in lock down and everyone was ordered to return to their bunks immediately following the riot. Cobb and I returned with Lem, Eddie, Scrambler and Chavez. Meyers was already in his bed when we arrived in the cell, snoring with his duster hat over his face. The lock down buzzer sounded throughout the halls and every cell door grinded to a close. Pins clanked into place as the barred doors sealed automatically. Dinner was served in our cells and we spent our downtime resting.

Midnight arrived along with the dayshift worker's. Cons covered in sweat and dirt entered the bunkhouse single file. They walked in groups of six and I instantly knew why. The chains that linked them at their ankles kept them confirmed my guess that they had worked in chain-gangs.

Lem and Eddie lined up at the door and the other men followed their lead. Cobb, Meyers and I brought up the back of the line. We slowly traded spots with day workers one at a time. The process was slow but meant as a security precaution. Our escorts were rough in handling the exchange, tightening our cuffs too much, shoving us with their rifles and being verbally abusive.

The yard was a completely different setting under the bright searchlights and night sky. With no one on the yard, it was eerily silent. Chain-gangs were herded through the registration building and out through the front gates. Every six-man group was joined by armed security flanking either side. Only our footsteps and jingling chains broke the silence of the darkened desert as we left the prison far behind in the black of the night.

"Where are we going," I asked of the men in my group. I had been linked with Cobb, Meyers, three of Cooke's goons, including Chavez. "How far is the work site?"

"It's a few miles south of here." Chavez turned his head back as he was walking. "The tracks have already been cleared from here to Ivanpah Lake. We're halfway to the town of Nipton by now. There's an abandoned emergency railway station where the guards have set up a base. Prisoners clear the tracks of debris left behind like forgotten train cars and landslides. Most of it is done by hand, but the heavy work is done by dynamite. Only the 'A Block' gimps are trusted to handle the explosives since they're non-violent offenders on the work-release program. The rest of us clear the way by hand like slaves."

"Shut up, prisoner," one of our escorts shouted. We continued on in silence following the tracks south into the foothills of the desert-mountains. Coyotes howled in the distance and a bighorn snorted somewhere behind a stand of shrubs. We reached the railway station an hour later and stopped for a five minute break. As we sat around, an officer went down the lines assigning work stations. Samual Cooke arrived shortly after and was welcomed with a round of applause. He joined Lem, Eddie and Scrambler's lineup. As I scanned the crowds I found Hannigan and Carter lined up along with a man in glasses, a ghoul and two other men. They seemed to be deep in enthralling conversation with the ghoul to notice us. Boxcars was lined up with 'B Block' members somewhere out there too.

As members of 'A Block' and confirmed psychopaths, were not allowed anywhere near the explosives and could only be trusted to heavy lifting in the back of the work force. 'B Squad' separated us from the 'A Gimps' at the frontlines who set the charges and triggered the dynamite. The overseer of the whole operation was a young Lieutenant handpicked by the Colonel herself. He commanded attention at the assembly of worker/prisoner force and announced the schedule. Break would be in two hours, lunch in six, and dinner in eight. At the end he mentioned something about a weekly event called the Gauntlet.

Emergency floodlights lined the tracks all the way down the tracks from the railway station ending where the clearing site began. 'A Block' members were already setting up the first rounds of charges as I set to work with my group hauling rocks and boulders to the side of the railway tracks. My back was sore by the time we got our first break that night and it only got worse as the shift continued. Chavez claimed that he got used to it after a few weeks. But laughed when he said it gets easier.

For lunch we were served cold sandwiches and bottle water which we consumed right where we worked. Cooke's group worked alongside Chavez and I the entire time, sometimes cracking jokes and other times filling Cobb, Meyers and I in on important information about the work site. During our meal breaks, we were allowed to roam about as long as we stayed within range of the collar beacons along the tracks.

Cooke led his team up a narrow foot path that led away from the tracks and Chavez followed. He explained that there was an area where guards and convicts sometimes spent there breaks. We arrived at a campfire where Cooke gathered next to a group of 'A Block' stiffs. Hannigan and Carter were among the lineup with the ghoul and the man with glasses. At the moment, Cooke was exchanging words with the man with thick lenses in hushed tones.

"You got my stuff Oliver?" Cooke leaned in close after looking around to make sure no unwanted eyes could pry. The glasses guy nodded promptly and eagerly proceeded to remove a stick of dynamite from inside his jacket. He handed it over like a dog happy to return a stick to its master. Cooke added a few more words in conspiratorial tones. "You fill the newbies in on the operation?"

"Yeah, yeah for sure, Cooke, I knew you would appreciate any additional support so I got them to hide a stick or two for you," Oliver twitched frantically as he spoke through the joker's smile on his face. He motioned for Hannigan and Carter to reveal the explosives tucked under their shirts. Cooke was impressed and took the dynamite with pleasure. He looked around once more. When he was sure the coast was clear he moved over to a boulder next to the camp fire and felt around the surface.

He found a hidden hatch and opened the lid to reveal the hollow compartment in the rock. I peered inside to see the hidden stockpile of explosives. There wasn't much but it was contraband likely to get anyone in seriously deep trouble if it was discovered. Cooke added the dynamite to the stash and sealed the lid. When he turned to face the new comers, his voice lowered and his eyes got serious.

"No one says a word about this to anyone," Cooke waited for us to confirm an agreement with his demand. I nodded, along with Cobb, Meyers, Hannigan, Chavez and Carter. I thought about the stash the rest of the night as we toiled away in the piles of boulders and debris. I was thankful it was night as I wiped away layers of sweat. Dayshift must feel like hell under the blazing hot sun. Dinner arrived and we enjoyed a helpful serving of potatoes, beans and water. At the end of the meal the foreman got up before the workers and guards to announce the night's event: The Gauntlet.

"Tonight's match-card includes old rivalries with six fights lined up by volunteer competitors." I realized the entertainment he mentioned before was actually a good old fashione boxing match. I was excited until he got to the details about the Gauntlet.

"We have six new arrivals," I swallowed dryly as heads began to turn and eyes locked on each one of us that were brought in today. Dozens of prisoners stared with knowing smiles that gave me the chills. "In classic NCRCF tradition, all new inmates must be initiated into the fraternal bonds of 'convict-hood'. They will each be submitted to a trial by blood in this week's main event: The Gauntlet! Let's kick off the Main Event!"

The entire population was in an uproar as men cheered and screamed for blood. The six of us were collected and hoisted above the crowd's heads as they chanted 'Gauntlet' over and over. We were carried away down the tracks and up the trail. I spotted the fireplace and hollowed out boulder as we went down the passageway. Guards and prisoners made their way, single file, into an old abandoned den just off the beaten path.

The crowd carried me through the down and down some steps into an underground cavern. They set us down in the center of the large opening and formed a circle around us. The Lieutenant in charge yelled at the crowd to shut up for moment while he declared the ground rules.

"All newcomers in the battle zone at once, you all know the drill," the foreman shouted for everyone to hear. "I need three volunteers for each newcomer. Anyone scheduled for a fight already cannot contribute to the Gauntlet; no exceptions. The match ends one all the members of one group cannot continue. It's eighteen versus six tonight, so who wants in on tonight's match? Who will step in to welcome our new guests to prison life?"

Eyes darted back and forth among the prisoners as they shared inside jokes between one another. Cooke's goons stepped forward but not the leader himself. A dozen other men joined the ring of volunteers, including Constantine and several of his own goons and soon the room was quiet. Prisoners and guards stood side by side intermixed among the audience in anticipation. The commanding officer sounded a horn signaling the fight and the crowd erupted. Men chanted for blood and the volunteers began to circle our group. My heart pounded like a hammer as sweat began to pour.

After an eternity of anxious waiting the volunteers finally sprung an attack. I was bombarded by a flurry of fists, knees and elbow but managed to keep my footing. Hannigan and Carter were down in seconds. I barely registered their absence when the men who beat them unconscious turned their attention of me. Suddenly I was fighting with six men instead of three. I managed a lucky strike and knocked a man out with a wild haymaker. A second lucky strike landed square in the jaw of Cooke's bodyguard. For a moment, I felt some hope, but that quickly vanished with a kick to the gut. I went down curled up just in time as the boot stomping began.

The last thing I saw was Meyers and Cobb going down as well before disappearing behind a wall of boots and legs. Soon, I was lost in oblivion floating in the darkness of unconsciousness. When I came to the crowd was still cheering but I was no longer being beaten down. I was lying on a picnic table behind the crowd as they enjoyed another fight. They paid no attention to me or the other men snoring beside me. Meyers, Boxcars, Carter and Hannigan lay in a row snoozing.

Moments later, the crowd opened up to allow a pair of prisoners through the crowd. One was on his fight, with a fist raised in victory. The other prisoner was dragged out of the fighting area by his legs. The men dragging the loser picked up the victim by the arms and legs and tossed him onto a table next to mine. The winner of the match was none other than Cooke himself. No wonder he hadn't volunteered to fight in the Gauntlet

"Hey, welcome to life in the Cage my friend," Cooke reached out his hand to shake mine and he sat next to me. He looked at the goose egg forming on my head and whistled at the sight of it. "You didn't do half-bad for a fish, you know? I like the way you put up a good fight though. You lasted the longest out of all your friends. I'm impressed. You managed to knock out the Legionnaire boss-man."

I looked around at the bodies behind me and spotted the Legion inmate, Constantine, snoring on table at the back of the room. I knew I had crossed the line and my reputation with Legion members took a dive. I'd just made a dangerous enemy. Cooke laughed as it dawned on me and he patted my back. Once the fights had ended, we were ordered back to work on the tracks.

I spotted Hannigan and Carter once again as the groups filed out of the under-ground den. Hannigan introduced the ghoul and man with glasses who were mixed in with Cooke's conspiracy. The ghoul, Nook, was a former NCR demolition expert and Oliver Swanick, an ex-gang member from Vegas. They congratulated me on a good job during my run in the Gauntlet and we parted ways.

We spent the last couple hours clearing the railway. Everyone was in high spirits as we worked and time flew by. After a week of labor, it seemed that the men just needed to blow off steam and Gauntlet night was just the way to relieve some tension. Now that I had a run in the event I was officially an accepted member of the convicts. I was sore from the beat down but I felt good. I felt alive.

We made the hour long trek north on the railway as the sun began to peek above the horizon. The air had warmed to near boiling temperatures by the time we arrived back at the prison. My prison fatigues were covered in dirt and sweat stains. I bled from blisters on my knuckles and a cut on my forehead. Too tired to clean it, I climbed to a top bunk and fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.

I lay in my bed and recounted the day's events once more and closed my eyes. I helped start a riot, discovered a convict conspiracy and got my ass kicked twice in my first day as an inmate. My body ached from the hard labor and my head throbbed from the boxing match. Execution was starting to sound a lot better than the life I had to look forward to in this cage. The guards were brutal, the inmates were highly unstable and volatile and the food sucked. Forced labor wasn't helping the situation either. A man could die of heatstroke working that hard for long periods. Many men have died of heat stroke working the railways. If I was going to survive the Cage, I was going to step up my survival skills.

Right then, I decided I had to find a way into Samual Cooke's club. He seemed impressed with my actions in the Gauntlet tonight so maybe I was already on the right track. I tried to remember the people he kept close to him. Phillip Lem was Cooke's right hand man for sure. Eddie and Scrambler were like his personal body guards, though he didn't appear to really need protection. I tried to remember the dark skinned man's named. It was Dawes. I wasn't sure if Cooke considered Chavez a close friend since I hadn't noticed them exchange too many words during railway work. There were countless other inmates Cooke spoke to during the day that I couldn't keep track of all them. Oliver Swanick and his ghoul buddy came to mind but that was it.

I narrowed my choice of friends down to the five men in Cooke's inner circle: Cooke himself, Lem, Eddie, Scrambler and Dawes. Soon, I was slipping into the darkness and dreaming of wide open fields and fresh air.


	8. Chapter 7: The Cage

Chapter 7: The Cage

Sleep escaped me part way through the day and I found myself laying wide awake with thoughts of despair and gloomy hopes of escape and revenge. What would I do if I had gotten out? Where to begin taking down the Van Graffs? What ever happened to Raze after his shady get away at the Silver?

Inner dialogue was interrupted by muffled voices in the distance and I was instantly curious. No way that any of the other prisoners could have energy after the night filled with work and fighting. I got up and wandered out of the opened cell. Far to my left, a dim light emanated from the last cell, casting ominous shadows and bar lines along the hallway. Against my instinct, I made my way toward the candle light and voices.

"We don't have anywhere near enough explosives to even begin discussing a break out," Cooke was explaining. "In the mean time, we need to focus on our main purpose here."

"Oh yeah, and what's our purpose here, fearless leader?" Eddie sounded defiant.

"The only reason we let ourselves be caught and locked up here is because it's the perfect mixing pot of individuals for recruitment." Cooke began to sound more conspiratorial than ever. "No one in here is repping any particular gang at the moment. Colors; patches? None of that means shit while we're all cooped up together like this. We are, like it or not, one and the same. So long as it's prisoners against guards, we stand united with one common enemy."

"The NCR…" Eddie sounded like he was starting to understand.

"Which is exactly the foundation of this entire revolution." Cooke might have been smiling as he spoke the words. "Phase One means we need as many prisoners on our side before anything is set into motion. We educate them on the agenda; rile them up good and get it in their heads that the NCR needs to be taken down. We'll start with getting them to hate the guards so much that anyone wearing an NCR uniform outside these fences will be included as the enemy."

"Right, okay. Then what?" Eddie was coaxing the entire scheme out the mastermind as much as he could.

"We bide our time. Once the men are in agreement, we'll need larger forces on the outside." I edged closer to the bars of the cell as the voices got lower and harder to hear. Cooke continued to explain the finer details. "I'll send out ambassadors to the smaller gangs in the area. Someone will need to go speak on our behalf; spread the word, collect resources and recruits. Once we have a large enough alliance we-"

Glass crunched under my boot as I chanced a step closer. In an instant, all five men in the cell surrounded me. Eddie and Scrambler had me by the arms and Dawes was shining the lamp light in my eyes. Someone had me in a firm chokehold before I took several punches to the ribs. Gasping for air and gritting my teeth, I struggled against my captors in futility.

"We got rats in the walls, boss!" Scrambler hooted.

"How much of that did you hear just now?" Cooke asked. He stood calm, hands crossed in front of his waist. He was almost welcoming. I tried to answer, but all I could manage was a cough, which produced a string of spittle that made its way down my chin. Cooke cocked his head to the side and made a mockery of a sad face, with his eyebrows scrunched and bottom lip protruded. He cupped a hand to his ear and turned as if to try and hear a little better. "What's that? I couldn't hear you with that mean old bastard choking you to death."

"Khaa-" more coughing as the arm around my neck tightened. Cooked looked up over my shoulder to the man behind me and gave the slightest of nods. Finally, I was able to breathe. Gasping in air as repeated the word, I began to feel my knees buckle. "Khans."

"Khans?" Cooke asked. "The Mighty Khans were wiped out."

"No, they weren't." I was still gasping. "I met a few in the wastes. When we were being delivered here."

"See, now, why don't I believe you?" Cooke smiled as he asked. "If you met up with any Khans the NCR escorts would have shot on sight."

"We escaped the escorts for a while. When we were in the desert, we met a few members of the Khans; teamed up." The three men holding me made it difficult to concentrate on speaking. I knew these men would kill me to keep their meeting a secret. I had to give them something to keep myself from dying on my first day in prison. "I saved one of them during a shoot out."

Cooke was mildly interested. He cajoled me to continue me story. "And?"

"The Khans have a code that when someone saves them, that person can ask for any favor. The Khan I saved was a high ranking member and now he owes me a Life Debt."

"Like I said, the Khans were wiped out." I had to explain some more.

"Not all of them. The ones that survived the NCR assault all moved to another place in the desert; somewhere north of Goodsprings." Cooke was satisfied with that and gave his goons another nod before they released me. I groped at my throat as I regained my breath and fell to my knees. Cooke turned with his hands clasped behind his back and nose in the air. He took a few steps away as he began to ponder the ordeal.

"So what do you propose to do with this life debt of yours that I might let you walk away with what you know about us?" Cooke asked.

"You need resources." I replied as I glanced up at his back. "I can ask for an alliance at best; weapons at the least." Silence followed. I held my breath as Cooke contemplated.

"Suppose I agree to this demented idea of yours, what assurance do I have that you won't blow the whistle on my plans?" Cooke asked. I had no real answer but I had to come up with something.

"You don't." I said. "But it's like you said: we have a common enemy. The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

"Hmm." He clucked on his teeth as he rolled the idea around in his head. "Okay!"

"Okay?" Eddie asked in objection.

"Okay." Cooke repeated. He glanced around at his men as he spoke. He waved a hand at me dismissively as he continued "We need recruits so we'll start with this one. If there's a chance to start sooner than later, we'll take it. But if you even think about double crossing me on this-"

He leaned down on one knee and brought my chin up so we were face to face. His expression turned grim and dark with death in his eyes as he made his final statement.

"I'll rip out your intestines and hang you with them in your cell."

We returned to our cells and attempted to rest for the remainder of the day, however, sleep was the last thing on my mind. I regretted getting out of my bed.

Guards arrived to get us up a full hour before the night shift would begin again and we were left to our own devices in the yard. There was no separation between any of the blocks, so high level offenders were mixed in with everyone else. A lot of prisoners found their way to the basketball courts and others busied themselves around games of dice, dominoes, or chess at the picnic benches. I myself couldn't decide how to spend the down time. In the end, I opted to join Meyers at a picnic bench near the administration building.

The former sheriff sat alone, in quiet contemplation, staring out at the busy yard and at the same time not seeing anything. I was at a loss for words, struggling to grasp for anything to talk about. Glancing up lazily at the large faded words that labeled the building behind us, I attempted to strike up a conversation.

"Meyers." I greeted him and he responded back with a simple nod without even looking in my direction. I felt unsure about myself as I continued on in my attempt at casual small talk. "What are you doing way over here by the administration building?"

I waited in awkward silence. He appeared to be contemplating a reply, maybe he was deep in thoughts about gun fights, beers, or maybe his favorite escort service for all I knew.

"The building reminds me who I am," the older man finally answered. I exhaled deeply, not realizing I had been holding my breath as I waited for an answer. Meyers added "Reminds me what I used to be, I mean. You know, position of power and all that?"

It made sense. He once ran the entire law system in a small town somewhere. What was the name of the place?

"Sitting here keeps me sane I guess. I think it keeps me in line as much as I can. This way, I don't fall in step with the rest of the animals in this place. A cage like this can drive a man to the edge of insanity. Like those guys in particular."

He was pointing to a pair of dark skinned men across the yard, among the card players and gamblers. They appeared to be in distress as they paced back and forth and fidgeted with their shirts and collars. One man cursed the sky as the other began to shout.

"I can't take it in here. I can't stand this heat!" the taller of the two screamed to no one in particular. In the corner of my eye, I noted Colonel Phoenix stepping out of the administration building with her lackey in tow. She was concentrated on the same ranting men that we were observing.

"Pack of smokes says he makes a run." Meyers bet.

"He won't run. There's nowhere to go," I answered, fully aware of the boss lady by our bench now. She stood with her hands crossed at the small of her back. The three of us watched in earnest. The second man grabbed screaming one and shook him to his senses, if only for a moment. A second later the pair was in a full sprint for the nearest fence.

Up in the closest tower, a guard leaned over the rail with his rifle drawn. On the ground below, a second guard fell to a knee with his weapon concentrated on the runaways as well. Neither NCR men wasted a bullet as the convicts began the impossible scale up the chain link fences.

The sound of clicking caught my attention to my left and I turned in time to see the Colonel flipping the cap open on what looked like a pen at first glance. The cap tipped back and i saw the bright red button beneath it before it dawned on me. Her thumb rested eagerly on the trigger as she began twitching her long feminine fingers across the screen of her Pip-boy.

The digital read out displayed a list of numbers and faces as she scrolled to find the proper files to what she was looking for. Without turning to her intern, she demanded to know which two prisoners she was currently about to execute. The young guard peered through binoculars before responding with the correct IDs.

"Prisoners 1488 and 1490, ma'am." Satisfied with the information, Phoenix punched in the correspondence and relaxed. She appeared to be toying with the would-be escapees, as if to offer false hope of freedom. I thought I saw the phantom of a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth as she watched the men scale the fence.

Within seconds, both prisoners were up and over the top, wasting no time climbing down the other side. One after the other, they dropped the thirty feet down to the desert floor. The second man fell to his back, reeling in pain and clasping an ankle which probably broke on landing. His partner bent to pick him up before they turned to make a dash up the hill side.

Every prisoner in the yard was in a riot. Most of the men chanted and roared, cheering on the escapees, others watched silently. Halfway to the hill top, the man with the injured foot dropped to his knees, clutching at his collar. He screamed for help once before his head suddenly turned to a bright red mist of blood and brain matter.

The percussion of prisoner shouts halted instantly as the sound of the collar explosive echoed off the surrounding hills. One second the air was filled with noise and chaos then it was shut down by the pop of the device around the man's neck. The remaining convict released his grip on the dead man's body and stumbled away. He wiped away the blood splatter from his face and began to scream. An instant later, he was a headless fountain of gore standing on the hill. His lifeless body stood comically for a moment before dropping to its knees and keeling over in a pool of blood. Almost immediately, the desert sand began to suck up the red as it baked under the evening sun.

"That's how I deal with uncooperative prisoners," Phoenix spoke at my side. I turned to look as she stared completely devoid of emotion at the corpses outside the fences. I tried to swallow a lump in my throat as she turned to smile at me. "Remember it."


	9. Chapter 8: Jack Rabbit Springs

Chapter 8: Jack Rabbit Springs

There was no way on earth I was ever going to escape this living hell. These collars were only the beginning of the problem.

The day shift prisoners returned and we repeated the slow process of exchanging six man teams. I was teamed up with the same five guys as the night before: Cobb and Meyers took up the front with me in the middle. Chavez, Dawes and another man, whose name escaped me, took up the rear once again. We made the twenty mile trek down the railway without a word between any of us. I kept wondering how I might ever be able to get free without having my head blown up. It was impossible.

I brainstormed about the collar bombs until I got a head ache. Nothing would work. Getting too far from the perimeter beacons would set off the device. Messing with the lock mechanism would definitely get me a one way trip to headless highway. I wondered if I could do something to the wires, but I couldn't take the risk.

Something caught my attention in the corner of my eye just as we were entering the narrow mountain pass. Up on the ridge, to our left; I thought I saw a shadow move. It could have been a coyote. I was too enveloped in thoughts about head explosions to worry about imaginary boogeymen in the hills. If I examined the collar on Meyers' neck in front of me, I might be able to discover some oversight in the design.

The clasp was simple enough, however, the sensors would trigger the detonation and it would all be over. The receiver was obviously programmed to accept the signal from Phoenix's Pip-boy. There was no doubt in my mind that she could monitor any prisoner's location at any moment. I wondered how far away she could send the signal from.

Up ahead, the service station was coming into view. At first, I could only see the top point of the overhead crane. Within minutes, the roof of the building came in sight. Soon, the entire company was coming to rest around the platforms of the railway building.

The overseer assigned each chain gang a portion of the railway to clear out. As usual, A Block prisoners got the lead setting charges and blowing up things. B Block was right behind those groups moving things to the trash bins. The bins were actually hollowed out box cars, filled to the brim with stone and useless train parts. C Block members were left with the duty of carting the trash bins back and forth from the work site to the prison range. Chavez explained our role as we carted back our first load up the railway.

"C-Block members aren't trusted to handle the dynamite, because we're all serious offenders. We get ditched with heavy labor, eh?" He had a thick Hispanic accent in his speech. "Our only assignment is to build the hills west of the prison. Right now, it's all hardpan, but in a few weeks, we'll be looking at hillsides; maybe mountains! You'll see what I mean once we unload this bitch."

We pushed the full load in three teams of six; one chain gang on each side of the train car and another pulling from the front. What took us ninety minutes to walk before, now took us four hours with the freight. Our chain gang was assigned to the lead, standing in lines of three, pulling chains attached to the train. As we departed from the service station I spotted the same shadow up on the ridge of the mountain pass. This time, I was sure it wasn't a coyote.

Chavez wasn't exaggerating when he said we would be building hills. We pulled the dirt north, passed the prison, and stopped just short of the highway. We were granted a short break, complete with bread and dirty water. To our left, the prison fences blurred under the desert heat like a sick grey mirage of steel and regret. To our right, the rollercoaster and lights of Primm stood far off in the distance, taunting us with dreams of freedom and fun.

I stared off, remembering the carousel, the taste of cotton candy, and the sound of music. I wondered if Ruby Nash still sold her red scorpion venom casserole. At the moment, the El Diablo roller coaster was running at full speed down its first drop. If I strained my ears hard enough, I could almost hear the screams of the people on the ride, seeking the only adrenaline rush they might ever experience. Simple life.

We unloaded the dirt and debris by hand as the next group pulled up with another freight car. Daylight was only beginning to tease us with sunrise by the time the third team arrived. Chavez continued to explain our work detail.

"The Warden; he's killing two birds with one stone with this project. We clear the railway, at the same time; we're also building the hills around the prison. See!" He pointed along the train tracks and laid out the blueprint for me. Soon, the Cage would be dead center in a man-made valley in the middle of the desert. Mountains covered the east and south, and we were laying out the foundations of mountains to the west, running parallel to the tracks and highway called Long I-15.

By the time the third train car arrived, our team had fully unloaded what we had brought in. Our next assignment was to tip our empty box over and off the rails. Then we moved back behind the last team and tipped an empty box back onto the rails. That was the system. Always three boxes in rotation.

Soon, we were headed back to the service station with a much lighter load. We arrived just before sunrise, in time for meal break. The overseer allowed us to spread out and once again, my team headed back up to the camp fire and hollowed rock. Cooke and his team were waiting with a fire and hotdogs. Minutes later, Oliver Swanick and his A-Block stiffs followed. Cooke took his regular delivery of stashed dynamite, along with contraband cigarettes and liquor. I couldn't help but get the feeling that Swanick was one of those overly eager people pleaser types of fellows.

As Cooke was closing up the hiding spot, the Overseer approached with a pair of familiar NCR troops and what appeared to be a scientist. He signaled for Cobb and our group to come forward, which stirred up some confused looks between the six of us.

"Men; you all remember your escort, Sgt. Bitter-Root, from the First Recon." The Overseer wasn't asking a question. "And, uh…? What was your name son?"

"Spades, sir." The younger of the two replied stiffly.

"Yes, well, two of NCR's finest have been directed to escort this young lady, Doctor Angela Williams, on an important research expedition." He waved a dismissive arm at her without even looking in her direction. "Seeing as how we're conveniently located near her sight, we figured we could spare the muscle. So you six gentlemen will be reassigned to accommodate the Sergeant and the Doctor anyway they see fit. Mostly, you'll be on sentry detail. Anything else beyond that service will be left to the Sarge's discretion. Your compliance will be rewarded, gentlemen. Assure the good doctor's safety and you will all be supplied with smokes and alcohol from the Warden's personal stash."

Cobb and Meyers were immediately impressed but Chavez appeared skeptical. The rest off nodded along and within minutes we were being led further down the mountain pass that led passed the underground den where the fights happened. 9-of-Spades took point with chain gang lined up behind him. The pretty doctor followed right behind us, with Bitter-Root bringing up the rear. Chavez was the first of us to break the silence as we trekked down the narrow path.

"Hey, man, ain't we getting' too far from the beacons? They're gonna start beepin' soon. You trynna blow off our heads, man?" No sooner had he mentioned the collars that Cobb's began to beep.

"I think we're clear, Sir," 9-of-Spades shouted back to the old man. "How's your line of sight?" Bitter-Root took a lazy glance backward before replying.

"All clear, son. We can 'free-up' from here I guess." I was confused at first before the old man took a few steps to the middle of our line-up. He cleared his throat and began a practiced speech. "We didn't want to take the chains off in front of the other inmates. I thought it might stir up feelings of jealousy. As for the collars, your Mexican friend has a point. We'll be removing them from this point forward seeing as how we aren't equipped with any personal beacons."

Cobb's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Chavez made a face that let us know he was impressed with the new job. The guy whose name I didn't know began to shuffle in his feet. The only thing he didn't do was rub his hands together like some cheap villain. This wasn't going to end well. Sarge finished off with a few more notes on the expedition.

"You'll be out of your chains, but remember: Spades and I are First Recon snipers. That means the sharpest shooters in all of NCR. You can try to make a run for it, but you'll never get far. Me and the Rookie will be the only individuals with armaments while the six of you keep a good lookout at the positions I assign you."

"What are we watching out for, if you don't mind me asking?" Cobb directed at the old man.

"That's the great thing about it. You can ask anything!" He gave a great smile with his response. Bitter-Root took out a key from his jacket and began to unhook our chains, starting with our ankle cuffs. "To answer; we're out in mountain slash desert wilderness; so we should keep an eye out for critters like geckos, scorpions, and ants."

"So, what are you researching out in the middle of nowhere?" Cobb turned his attention to the doctor.

"I'm conducting a map out of the underground rivers feeding out from the Colorado River." The young scientist answered without meeting Cobb's gaze. She was busy examining map coordinates on her Pip-boy. "In fact, we should be close. Several weeks ago, some Ranger scouts discovered a run-out in this area while they were securing the work boundaries of the railway cleanup."

"Water?" Chavez sounded aghast. "Good luck, lady. We're right out under the sun's ass. Even if there was water, it's guaranteed to be poisoned completely. Ivanpah Lake was a radioactive dumping ground even before the Great War. The entire place is hardpan."

"You know your history; I'm impressed." She shot him a sideways eyeroll as she spoke. "However, your assessment of the radiation levels is completely uneducated. When water flows below the earth's crust, it follows a natural filteration process as it crosses certain elements in the rocks. By the time it's travelled from the river to the lake bed, it may very well be a new source of pure water. It's been over two hundred years since the nuclear fallout, besides. It should be fine. I just need to examine the out flow and measure… pH lev…"

She went silent mid sentence. She turned to face south and began to walk, taking the lead as the Sarge finished unhooking the last man in our line up. He dropped the chains and collars in a pile and huffed after the doctor, shouting over his shoulder as he ran.

"Spades, you keep those men in line and try to keep up. Damn woman is getting herself killed wondering off like this."

"You heard the man. Let's hit it." The Rookie followed close behind as we made our way single file through the mountain pass and over a short hill.

"That seriously can't be the end of her little story, is it?" Cobbs wondered out loud.

"She does that." Spades replied. Our group marched forward, zig-zagging between jagged rocks and cresting two small hills before finally catching up to the Sarge and the Doctor.

Stretched out before our eyes was the Ivanpah Lake Drybed. Endless miles of hardpan extended almost beyond the horizon in each direction. Heat waves obliterated the flat scenery into a mirage of almost white nothingness and sand. Down below, the Sergeant over worried about the doctor's safety, holding her elbow and advising to be careful every half a breath.

"Ah-ha!" the doctor exclaimed out loud. She mumbled something about great discoveries and potential. With her goal in reach, the old man stumbled up the ridge to speak with our group. 9 of Spades was directed to scout the area within a fifty meter radius. As he headed off, Sarge pulled out some binoculars and peered out to the mystery of the hard pan. He clucked at his teeth and shook his head as we all looked on him in anticipation to hear what he saw.

"What is it? What do you see, old man?" Chavez prodded. Just then, Spades returned from his chore.

"There are Raiders out there." Bitter-Root handed the binoculars to the younger officer as he explained further. "It looks like a couple dozen folks out there."

"I count forty-three." Spades answered as he peered through the sights. "They have cars."

"Working cars!" Cobb was astounded. I hadn't heard of a working vehicle in all my time in the Mojave. Cobb reached for the binoculars in a pleading gesture, but was quickly denied as the old man tucked the sights back into his jacket.

"No can do, inmate. NCR policy. Besides, Spades will show you to your over watch positions now. You can get a nice long look from where you'll be standing." While 9 of Spades escorted each man, one by one, to their spots, I scanned the area and watched the doctor dig up dirt. She busied herself with tiny excavating tools down in the hole, slashing out dirt with a baby-sized pick axe.

It seemed to be a crater, or a naturally formed pit of sorts. Lines in the dirt marked layer upon layer up to the ridge I was standing on. I found an old wooden slat covered in dirt nearby, and went to pick it up. Caked on dirt covered up what looked like writing, so I tried my best to clear it up for me to read. The white painted letters were old and fading but still legible.

"Jack Rabbit Springs…" I hadn't realized the Sergeant was also reading over my shoulder and I jumped at the sound of his voice. I stood to face him, still holding the old sign in both hands. He met my eyes and shrugged his shoulders as he guessed "Must have been some kind of watering hole back in the day."

"I've never heard of it." I replied, dumbfounded.

Just then, the doctor began screaming. Bitter-Root drew his rifle on reflex and Spades came running full sprint at the sound of the woman's shrieks. She wasn't in danger, instead, she was smiling and jumping in circles with both fists in the air.

"Water! We found water!"

At her feet, water began to seep up through the ground and pool, ever so slowly. Jack Rabbit Springs began to look like paradise under the deathly hot Mojave heat.


	10. Chapter 9: The Girl in the Shadows

Chapter 9: The Girl in the Shadows

By morning, Jack Rabbit Springs had risen to waist level. As it turned out, being a 'spring' meant that the water was naturally heated by underground lava vents. It didn't sound safe, but the good doctor assured us there was no real danger of being turned into human soup. I was convinced, not that I needed more prodding than when she undressed and hopped in first. The rest of my group didn't hesitate either.

As promised, the Overseer soon arrived with packs of cigarettes and a bottle of Scotch. Soon enough, we were having the time of our lives, wading around in steaming water and catching a buzz. We took turns telling Doctor Angela Williams of our crimes that put us in prison, overall, she didn't seem very bothered. She recalled tales about her education that ended her up in a department called OSI. It was a top of the rankings type of research department the NCR was attempting to sweep under the rug. They called it 'not-real-science'. She put up air-quotes when she said the words.

The Sergeant and his Rookie were kind enough to allow us this moment of relaxation as a reward for our outstanding surveillance work through the night. I stared up the fading night sky as the stars were slowly up by the rising sun. I'd never despised the sun more than at that moment. I wished the night could last forever.

"Keely would love this so much, I just know it." Doctor Williams blurted out loud as she reclined her head back against the sloping shore.

"If she's anything as good looking as you, I'd love to meet her!" Chavez tried to flirt.

"Oh she's your type, I know it. She hasn't had a hot bath in two hundred years, Chavez. Almost as long as you." Our Hispanic friend looked shot down. "She's a Ghoul girl, you know?"

I could see a look on her face that said this Keely was more than just a good friend but I was afraid to ask. Just then, Angela sprang out of the water, excitedly throwing both fists in the air again.

"Water! Can you believe it? Do you know what this means for the Mojave settlements? The pH levels are completely safe, look, it's one hundred percent drinkable." She cupped her hands together and drank greedily. After a moment, she let it fall with a slight gag and hang of the tongue. "I mean, it's a little hot on the throat, but it's clean!"

"Here, Doc," we had taken to referring to her as the 'Doc' by now. Cobb was handing her the bottle of Scotch as he spoke "This probably has a better 'burning' feeling than that."

She drank greedily and held the bottle in the air one more time as she exclaimed without breathing "This changes everything. All the work we've been doing for NCR has built up to a discovery like this. We can supply the farms with non-radiated water. This entire desert could be covered in green by the turn of the century! And the high and mighty "Doctor" Thomas Hildern, that kook, can shove his plant experiments where the sun doesn't shine!"

"Time's up, inmates. The clean-up crews are heading back to the prison in t-minus five minutes. We need you squared up and back in chains and collars before we rendezvous with the main brigade." Bitter-Root hollered from the top of the hill. "You too, Doc. Set up your monitor thing and let's boot it back, double-quick!"

We groaned about the good times ending, but orders were orders. We preserved the good 'Doc's' modesty and gave her privacy to redress herself. I headed back to the pile of clothes and collars along with Cobb and the rest of our gang with Spades as our escort. The Sarge stayed behind to guard the Doc while she gathered her gear and clothes. I took a spot by a pile of boulders to change back to my prisoner suit.

I stared up at the fading stars, sighing as my mind began to swirl with thoughts of hard labor, conspiracies and that fucking Legionnaire, Constantine. I knew he had it out for me ever since I sucker punched him at the Gauntlet that first night. I didn't mean to hit him, since he wasn't even a part of the event at the time. A shift in the shadows interrupted my thoughts just above and behind me.

I turned quickly and suddenly found myself almost face to face with a shadowy figure on top the ridge closest to me. A young woman in a in hooded robe knelt frozen in place, shocked to have been spotted. Although it was still dark, I could see she was just a teenager. Her skin was pale. She had long, black hair tucked under her hood. We stared at each other shocked, with our jaws dropped.

What was she doing out here, at this time of night? I wasn't sure what to do or say. If I shouted for the others, they might hurt her. Maybe she could kill me before I even got the word out. Instead, to my own amazement, I lifted a finger to my lips and hushed her. Her eyes might mine in wide surprise as I slowly began to back away.

BANG!

I flinched at the sound of a rifle being shot. I immediately searched around for the source and spotted Spades poised with his weapon drawn; barrel still smoking. Further down the hill I spotted the sixth man laying face down in the dirt. Under the grim dawning light, the blood pooling around his body looked as black as tar. I turned back to look at the girl in the hood, but she was already gone. I was relieved she hadn't been spotted and shot dead, but it only left me more confused than I already was.

"What the hell was that?" Bitter-Root demanded as he crested the hill with Dr. Williams hot on his heels. He surveyed the scene quickly. Cobb and Meyers were already in the process of being chained at the ankles, with Chavez and Dawes half dressed, staring at the body slack jawed. Angela spotted the dead inmate and covered her mouth as she gasped at the sight.

"We had a runner, sir. I had no choice." Spades reported.

"Good work, rookie." The old man nodded and shouldered his weapon as he marched down to the dead prisoner. He hunkered down by the half naked man and rolled his body over. After a quick pulse check, the Sarge rejoined our group and ordered Spades to get us back in our chains. "Let that be a lesson to the rest of you boys. Now, once you're lined up, we'll rejoin the rest of the work force. Shit, we're going to need a replacement for the dead one."

I glanced back once more at the dead inmate. I didn't even know his name. What a way to go. I looked back to the ridge where the mystery girl was sitting. More questions. What a night.

We marched back in total silence. Back at the service station, Sergeant Bitter-Root made a quick report to the Overseer, whose only complaint was about paperwork. We marched back to the prison and traded places with the day shift once again I lay awake in my bunk, in total darkness.

Sometime later, I heard whispers and shuffling in the cell. It was too dark to see, but I already knew it was Cooke and his crew. I guessed it was time for another gathering. As if to confirm my thoughts, Cooke grunted for someone to wake me up.

"Hey, asshole," It was Dawes, who poked my ribs harder than he really needed to "time for a meeting. Get your shit and let's go."

We met in the cell furthest from the entrance. It was small, with several bunks that had no mattresses. We used the bare beds as seats while we gathered around a gas lamp in the center of the floor. Phillip Lem spoke first.

"I'd guess that we're halfway to enough dynamite to make a stand against these punk ass guards. More importantly; I got somebody working on a recipe to repurpose the powder for bigger and better explosives."

"Nice job!" Samual Cooke gave him a pat on the shoulder while everyone in the circle smiled and nodded at the news. "Who'd you get to cook that up?"

"It's that ghoul…"

"You're talking about Nook, right?" Dawes asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Sure am." Lem answered. "He used to be an explosives expert for NCR, back before he became infected with the Ghoul Fever. Anyway, he says he can create some charges, but he needs materials: a lot."

"What's on the shopping list, Lem?" Cooke asked. With that, Lem drew a paper from his chest pocket and began to read out loud. There were quite a few items for just one explosive each. Cooke whistled at the end of the list and looked around at his cohorts for input.

"We can get the A-block gimps who work in the kitchen to get a few items each." Dawes chimed. "But we'll have to use outside resources for the rest, like the sensors. There's one more thing, Sam."

"What do you got for me?" Cooke met his eyes at he mention of his own name.

"A spot just opened in our line-up today." Dawes answered with a conspiratorial smile.

"Oh, that's right. You guys are on a special assignment?"

"Yeah, we pulled baby-sitting duty; some NCR doctor is studying some water, closer to the Ivanpah Dry Lake-"

"HA! What a fucking joke, those NCR spooks are stupider than I thought." Cooke laughed, almost hysterical.

"No joke, Cooke; she found water." Cooke stopped laughing and stared in disbelief as Dawes continued his report. "Not only is there water, but it's also a hot-spring. Fully bonafied, naturally heated water, and it's fresh and drinkable."

"She…" Cooke asked after a long moment of silence.

"That's not even the icing on the cake. You need to get onto our group, boss." Dawes answered. "There's a group of Raiders out on the hard pan."

"Fucking Raiders, Dawes." Cooke was ready to dismiss the whole conversation.

"Hold on, Boss. I recognized some men from my old gang, back at the Hub."

"And?" Cooke rolled his hand with two fingers, gesturing for him to get to the point.

"They have vehicles. Working. Vehicles." Dawes emphasized each word to make sure Cooke would get on board with the idea. "They're out their on the hard pan, racing. If we can get their attention, I know I can convince them to join us."

"It's settled. Everyone spread the word among the inmates: gather materials for the explosives." Cooke slapped his hands together and rose from his seat as he looked around the room. Lem, Dawes, Cobb and Eddie all appeared as phantoms dim lamp light, with shadows over their eyes and matching prison jumpers. It was eerie. Cooke finished the meeting and made one more announcement. "In the meantime, boys, gather your smokes. I'm bribing my way onto your special little baysitter's club."

With the meeting over, I was finally able to catch a few hours of sleep. As usual, we were awakened for meal time and granted one hour of leisure before our shift began. As usual, I found myself with no one to spend the downtime with.

I decided I would go stand near the area designated for Hot Boxes. I was curious to see what kind of conditions inmates had to live with while they were being confined. Of the six steel boxes, I chose the one closest to the fence.

The steel box wasn't much to look at. It was a five foot by five square that was about waist height. A single slot was the only opening, an inch tall and a foot wide. The opening was faced out toward the fence. Maybe it was placed there so the prisoner only had the desert to stare at. Even up close, I could still see the heat waves shimmering off the top. I was about to test how hot the box would feel when a sudden thump from inside made me jump back. I thought it was empty.

I peered through the slot out of curiosity. The slot itself did not allow much light in to see what or who was in it. On top of that, my own head blocked out more of the sun. The inside was completely black. Just as I was about to say something, a pair of eyes materialized out of the darkness.

I was startled again, but I didn't jump back. Two angry, brown eyes glared out at me. The scrunched up brow dripped sweat like a leaky faucet. In the silent evening air, I could hear labored breathing almost echoing in the steel container. Confusion took over for a moment as smaller details began to sink in. The eyebrows were thin, almost groomed. The skin around the eyes: pale. The eyes themselves were narrowed, slightly slanted and closer together than a man's should be. I stared for a moment before registering those familiar eyes.

"Unless you're making reservations, inmate, I suggest you stay well away from this area." Colonel Phoenix's voice tore my attention away. She was approaching, with her assistant and another guard escort close behind.

I stood up from my spot and tried to compose myself. Up close, I couldn't help but stare. Her NCR uniform was definitely not up to code. Her pants were skin tight and her blouse hugged her curves so close it left almost nothing to the imagination, despite the second layer beneath. Her belt held it all together around her tiny waist, leaving her large assets to hang over it like two giant neon signs screaming 'Look at Me'.

"The Hot Box area is off limits." Phoenix continued in her voice of authority. "The only prisoners that should be here are the ones inside the boxes."

She walked over to the opposite side of the box I was standing in front of, and leaned forward on it. I could hear the fabric of her coat begin to sizzle, and saw the tiny streamlets of smoke rise from her sleeves. She thumped on the roof twice with a gloved hand as she stared into my eyes.

"It's smaller on the inside than it looks, inmate. The walls are six inches thick and it's hotter once you're in it. Triple bolt locks on each side of the door makes damn sure no one can get in or out without a key." She winked at me as she explained the mechanics of the box. "Unless you want to find out for yourself, I suggest you keep out of trouble and definitely keep away from this area."

Her words prompted me to make a break for it, besides her cold, blue eyes were more than uncomfortable to look into. As I walked back to the main population areas, I took one more glance back at the Colonel and the Hot Box just in time to see her give a nice firm kick with a steel toed boot. The replying echo from this distance was enough to ring in my ears. What was it like to hear that from inside, I wondered.

I thought about those eyes as I walked away and remembered the last time I saw them. Those eyes belonged to the girl from the ridge last night.


	11. Chapter 10: How to Make Friends in Hell

Chapter 10: How to Make Friends in Hell

"Why are you helping me?" the girl in the Hot Box asked after I poured the purified water through narrow slot. The water bottle was too large to slip through the small space and the only option left was to feed her like a caged pet or something. She leaned close enough to the opening to get a good drink; I could see her mouth open up as the water poured in and quenched her thirst.

After the Chief of Security, Colonel Phoenix, had sent me away from the area, I couldn't help but feel sorry for the girl in the box. The sun had heated the steel cube enough to burn holes in the Colonel's jacket. It must have felt like an oven on the inside, and worse yet, the girl had been wearing a thick, heavy brown robe and hood. I decided I would use what little smokes I had and trade for whatever water I could find. To the credit of my good luck, I was able to hustle purified water from Hannigan.

The former NCR medic was quickly becoming known as the man who could 'get things'. It made sense to me; after all, he was siphoning medical supplies from his old job in the NCR military, until he got caught. He bragged about how good he was at smuggling things in and out of his old post at Camp McCarran. Fortunately for me, he had just been able to procure some fresh, not-radiated water earlier that day. Seeing as it was my first purchase from him, he said he'd give it to me for a deal.

Two packs of cigarettes later, here I was practically bird feeding this young stranger who happened to get herself stuck in a makeshift oven. Honestly, I couldn't find a good reason why I was helping her. She stared out at me from the darkness of her temporary prison.

"Redemption?" I meant it as an honest, but then it came out sounding more like a question. "I guess this is me owning up for past sins. I don't really know. I think you remind me of someone I used to know."

"Was she important to you?" her voice was low and sounded exhausted, as if she'd been awake for weeks. I thought about my old friends from the gang. The twins were a boy and a girl. They were both so tiny, but fierce as any gun blazer the desert ever knew. I couldn't help them that night we raided the caravans, but I knew I could help this girl here and now.

"Yeah, I looked out for her and her brother. I was like an older sibling to them both." I thought about for a moment before I continued "You look a lot like the girl. Anyway, that's in the past. Tell me about last night: what were you doing at the work site and how did you get stuck in there? Who are you?"

She didn't answer immediately. I decided to break the tension by pouring another sip of water. There I was, holding the bottle between my legs, faking a pee stance and hoping to trade this for answers. The strange girl lapped at the flowing liquid greedily before I pulled the bottle away. She gasped at the taste of pure water as she leaned back into her little box. Finally, she began to tell me her tale.

"My name's Veronica. Veronica Santangelo. I've been out here observing life in the prison." That surprised me a little but I laughed at the idea of calling it 'life'.

"If you can even call it living," I scoffed at her "What are you even watching for?"

"Everything and anything, really," How cryptic, I thought to myself "I watch for routines in food and supply shipments. I know that they bring in new prisoners from up North only once a week. Everyday, half the prisoners disappear for twelve hours, then come back and trade places with the other half of the inmate population."

I was finally able to guess why she had been around the work site. I was willing to bet that that was her first time beyond the prison. That still didn't tell me why or how she ended up in the box. When Colonel Phoenix had sent me away earlier, it didn't seem like she knew there was even anybody in it.

"Last night, I wanted to see what the prisoners were doing everyday, so I followed the chain gangs." Veronica explained. I remembered the shadows I had seen up along the mountain side as we arrived at the service station.

"I saw you, I think. You walked parallel with the tracks, just up in the hills, didn't you?" I asked.

"I guess I still have to work on my stealth." She chuckled at her own remark. "Being in this box is proof of that."

"Yeah; about that," I was truly curious how she got herself into that particular situation.

"I made it back to the prison before any guards or prisoners did. None of the day shift workers ever wake up before they have to, so the entire yard was quiet. Guards up in the towers never pay attention in the morning; I guess they're used to having an empty yard.

I thought I would take a closer look at the administration building just over there," I looked over at the Warden's office building. It was the closest to the Hot Boxes; maybe 20 yards at most. Veronica continued her adventure "I was looking for signs of weaknesses in the building structure. Maybe there were other entrances. I also wanted to check if the security cameras up there were functioning."

"Are they?" I asked as I looked up at the corners of the building. The glass lenses were dusty and one appeared cracked but they were all angled down at the entrance and at tactical positions facing the yard. Technology like that was hard to find in working condition, let alone as good condition as these cameras.

"I doubt it. I ran in front of one purposely to get attention from whoever's inside the building. Anyway, I found what I was looking for on the building. I was about to leave when an alarm went off. I was sure someone spotted me, so I made a dash for this spot.

That head of security woman came out with her lackies, but they completely blew past me and my hiding spot. They went straight for the bunkhouse that's marked 'K to Z'."

"Those cell blocks are for low level offenders. Drunks and people who owe the casinos; no one there is in for serious crimes. I wonder what happened?"

"Whatever it was, it gave me time to make a decision. The men up in the towers started watching the action and I couldn't risk making a run for the fence and being spotted. Instead, I picked the deadbolts and climbed into this box. A few minutes later, the security lady had her guards drag some poor shmuck out and tossed him into the box at the other end of the row there." She stuck a thin, pasty finger through the slot and aimed at the box closest to the Administration building. "In retrospect, I guess I'm pretty lucky they didn't decide to use this box. I would have been so caught."

"Interesting story, Veronica, but how do you plan on getting out of here?" I asked as I glanced around the prison yard. I had been standing there too long at that point. Someone was sure to get suspicious. Lucky for me, the Chief of Security was busy breaking up a fight between some unlucky gamblers across the yard.

"Aww, you're worried about me?" I couldn't believe she could make light of such a dire situation. "I'll be fine. While everyone's busy inside with the shift change, I'll pick my way out of here and be gone before the night workers even make it to the exit."

"You make escape sound so simple." I answered.

"It is, except I don't have that fancy necklace to keep me behind these walls." My hand went to my throat almost thoughtlessly as she said so. I looked up in time to see Colonel Phoenix making her way around the crowds. She was getting dangerously close. Phoenix was a cold and calculating bitch. I'd seen her beat a man down for complimenting her tits, and watched her gut check two of the toughest prisoners on my first day here. Then she blew up two men without blinking an eye. Really, I was taking a risk defying her orders to stay away. It took nerves of steel ignore her demands.

I really didn't want to find out if she would own up to her threats about throwing me in the Hot Box, so I stood up to leave. Faking the pee stance once again, I gave Veronica one last gulp of water before wishing her luck. I pretended to shake, just to make the effect more believable in case anyone was watching.

The next shift was starting in a few minutes, which meant I would be spending the next twelve hours chained to Cooke's side. It really was time to get going.

"This could get interesting," Sergeant Bitter-Root explained as our group stared down at Jack Rabbit Springs. By the time we arrived, the hot springs had over filled during the day and was now streaming over the edge and down the hill toward the hard pan of Ivanpah Lake Dry-bed.

Our eyes followed the steam as it rose from the water, above the hill crest, and over the desert flat land. Out in the darkness, we watched a bonfire blaze as several torches circled and dance around it. If we were quiet enough, we could here hooting and hollering among the revving of engines and shooting of guns.

"Is it possible that this lake could fill up any time soon?" Sergeant Bitter-Root asked Dr. Angela Williams. We all turned our attention the young OSI scientist. She looked unsure as she stared down at the new stream that poured down the hills. The water reached down to the flat, salty lake bed and evaporated almost instantly at the touch of its earth.

"It's hard to say, Sarge. I don't know really. I don't have enough to data to say for certain. There are the sedimentary layers to take into account, and the area of the dry-bed… I-I-I just don't know…" She was biting her nails unconsciously as she stared down the hill.

"An educated guess; Miss Williams," Bitter-Root snapped her out of her calculations. She stared around at everyone, slack jawed. Her eyes turned to the dark desert once again. From our vantage point, I could see the fire out there being reflected in the puddles below. It was strange, like seeing a mirage in the night as the light shimmered and skewed in the ripples.

"If the ground didn't absorb the water, I'd guess it would take weeks for the water to even trickle to the other side. Then it would take even longer for the levels to rise." The Doc didn't sound convinced of her own answer, but the Sergeant accepted it for what it was worth.

"Ah well, nothing we can do about it now, Doc. Anyhow," he turned his attention to the group and barked out orders. "Everyone take up the same positions from last night. Spades; you show the new guy his assigned position and explain his role."

Nine of Spades nodded his head and glanced around at the five of us who already knew where to go before turning his attention to Cooke. Before heading to my lookout, I caught Cooke staring out at the racers gathered around the bonfire. Not for the first time, I wondered who it was he knew out there. He seemed a little nervous, if not fearful. Spades slapped him on the shoulder and ordered him to follow.

One last look at the tiny speck of flame on the horizon, and I decided it was in my best interest to be on my guard when the time came to meet the men on wheels. Finally, I was off to stand my watch at the top of the hill that faced toward Primm.

Some hours later, when the quarter moon reached its highest peak, I was startled by the sound of gravel scraping beneath feet. I turned, and there behind me, to my surprise, was Veronica. She had just dropped down from the ridge above me and was just rising to a full stand.

She stood about a foot shorter than me, narrow and lithe. Her clothes seemed to be made of burlap, or something like it, complete with her hoodie drawn up.

"I would have died of thirst in that box," she broke the silence first. "I owe you my life."

"It was just a bottle of water." Really, it was nothing.

"You don't even know me, but you risked punishment to help me see the end of another day. I can't thank you enough." She stepped forward, then changed her mind. With her head down now, she went on "Anything you need. Just ask me, and I'll help any way I can."

I was about to tell her it was no big deal, when suddenly, the night air was filled with screams and gunshots. I turned to run, almost forgetting my new friend, but by the time I glanced back, she was gone already. Several more rifle rounds pierced the air and I ran to see what was happening.

I rounded the last crop of boulders and found Bitter-Root and Spades standing at the shore of the pond firing the weapons into the water. Doctor Williams was thrashing in the water, screaming for her life while fighting against something in the water. Bitter-Root cursed and threw his rifle to the ground while simultaneously drawing a hunting knife from his belt. In a flash, he dived in and disappeared beneath the water.

The Doc was free at last and she raced for dry land. Spades and I rushed to pull her from the water. By then, everyone else had come running to the scene. Cobb and Dawes came to screeching halt just opposite us on the other side of the pool. Chavez arrived just between our two groups, off to the side of the hot springs.

"What- what the fuck happened?" Dawes demanded staring across at the three of us. We sat breathing heavily, staring bewilderedly at the roiling waters. In a moment, all was calm and quiet, as if nothing happened.

"What happened, dammit?" Dawes asked again. The Doc was shaking convulsively in between me and Spades as we all looked to her for an answer.

"Something in the wat-" but before she could answer, the Sergeant sprang from the water, with his knife in the air, shouting a war cry like one that's never been heard at any battle. Everyone jumped at the sound, startled out of their wits. Angela shrieked. There was the Sarge, like, some god of the sea, rising as the water cascaded off him in moonlit curtains.

A split second after, the water beneath him swirled white and a claw broke the surface. First one; then another. For a brief instant, we could all see the beak and beady eyes poke through the roiling water. Then Bitter-Root slammed the hunting knife deep into the cretaceous beast's face.

The creature stopped short of clipping off the old man's head with one of its claws, and floated motionless in the hot spring. Bitter-Root thrashed in the water, waving his knife blindly like a mad man. At last he came to his senses enough to wade his way to the shore.

"What the fuck is that?" Dawes and Cobb asked at the same time, after a long moment silence. The Sarge, the Doc and the Rookie all appeared to be struggling to gather their wits.

The sound of a metal click froze everyone in their place. Dawes and Cobb both looked up above our heads and froze in place. They were no longer interested in the dead mutant in the water. Slowly, Bitter-Root, Spades, the Doc and I turned to look.

Directly behind us, Cooke stood with the Sergeant's rifle aimed almost directly at us. I couldn't tell if he was having trouble deciding who to shoot first. I heard the Rookie swallow a giant gulp of dry air. The look in Cooke's eyes was void of any emotion as he stared down the sights of the gun. The barrel seemed a bottomless pit in my eyes.


End file.
